Trauma Center: Illness
by Crazy Girl Person
Summary: Sometimes doctors get sick too.
1. Derek: Seasick

**Spoiler warnings for chapters five and six of the game! Ye have been warned!**

** Disclaimer: Derek Stiles, Angie Thompson, and all other Trauma Center characters are properties of Atlus.**

Trauma Center: Illness

Derek: Seasick

Derek had never been on a ship before. Rafts and small fishing boats, sure, but an actual ocean bound ship was something entirely new. He was never one for travel and he had already known he did not like planes. The flights were always long and the couch was small and cramped. Compared to that, plus the airline security and other hassles, he was somewhat looking forward to this means of traveling. It certainly could not be any worse than flying, right?

Wrong.

". . .Uhhhnn. . . .this . . .sucks. . ."

Derek grimaced as another wave of nausea overtook him. Crumpled against the side railing of the deck, he placed a hand over his churning stomach and tried to keep his gaze fixed on the horizon. Fresh air and watching the sea line was _supposed _to help with seasickness, but obviously not in this case.

"Dr. Stiles! What's wrong?"

Great . . . Angie saw him. That had to look good; a doctor keeling over the side of a ship and about to vomit his guts out. Not that he was expecting her to criticizing him for it, but he would have preferred to not have his assistant see him like that.

"Does your stomach hurt?"

"No . . . I just. . . . ug . ."

The hand that had been holding his stomach flew to his mouth as his muscles tensed. He gripped the railing tightly with his other hand, leaning over it and fighting to keep down what his body was so desperate to reject. Angie was at his side in a flash, rubbing his back gently as he continued to keep from retching. Several minutes passed before the nausea finally subsided, leaving Derek gasping for air. He slowly lowered his forehead against the rail, indulging as the cool metal provided some relief.

"Seasick, are you?" Angie stated, as there was no question about the doctor's condition. He sighed and nodded as best he could from his position. He closed his eyes as his organs continued to twist sickeningly inside him, but the feeling of Angie's warm hand against his back eased that somewhat. Continuing the impromptu massage, Angie said "I know you hadn't left the country before we went to Africa, but I would have figured you had at least gone on a ferry. You lived in California your whole life, didn't you?"

"Not exactly," Derek paused to grit his teeth as a cramp bit his stomach. "I was born in New Mexico."

"Hmm, you prefer land to sea, then?"

"Y-yeah, somethin' like that . . . . ugh . . ."

There was no stopping this one. The partially digested remains from lunch that day had come screaming up Derek's esophagus before he even had a chance to fight back. Angie continued rubbing his back as he threw up, sympathy written in her eyes. After an agonizing two minutes, Derek slumped over the railing in clear exhaustion, but his innards refused to calm down. His stomach grumbled irately in response to the nausea and having been violently emptied by it, but the dizziness had passed for the time being.

"Let's get you below deck."

Angie did not wait for a protest or affirmative response before draping Derek's arm over her shoulder and pulling him up. "Won't that just make the motion sickness worse?" Derek mumbled but feebly followed Angie's lead.

"Not if you lie down and close your eyes. I've been on my share of ships, so I have a lot of experience with seasickness." For a brief moment, Angie had entertained the idea of taking Derek to the onboard infirmary, but decided the private quarters Director Miller had arranged for them would be a wiser choice. It would not look very good for the only licensed surgeon on the vessel to be held up in the medical wing. Once they made their way inside, Derek all but collapsed onto the cot.

"Are you okay?"

"Mm, yeah, just dizzy again."

"Close your eyes and rest. I'll go get some ginger tea."

Derek complied, closing his eyes and sighing as he heard Angie's footsteps wander off to a corner of the room, then return to his bedside. He heard her place something on the floor next to the head of the cot. "Here's a bucket, just in case."

". . .Thanks . ." he replied drowsily as her footsteps retreated towards the door.

-----

It had taken Angie a bit longer to return than she would have preferred. Between finding the kitchen, brewing the tea, and the travel to and from, she guessed it had taken her about 45 minutes. She made no effort to hasten her pace as the last thing she wanted was to spill the hot liquid, but she was hoping to get back to Derek before he got sick again. As she carefully entered the room, she was relieved to see him just as she had left him and the bucket resting undisturbed at his bedside.

"Dr. Stiles, are you feeling better?"

She carefully placed the cup on a nightstand, frowning slightly when he did not respond. "Dr. Stiles? Are you awake?" He remained silent, breathing slowly and steadily. He was unmistakably asleep. Angie sighed slightly as she covered the cup with a cloth to keep the warmth in. _He fell asleep with his glasses on._ After a quick debate as to whether or not she should risk waking him, she carefully removed his glasses. She felt her heart skip a beat as his soft bangs brushed against her fingers. Her face heat up as she swallowed and placed the glasses on the table. _Wh-what am I blushing for?_

Angie found herself unable to answer as she continued to watch Derek's sleeping form. She did not know why she was staring at him like that, watching his barely parted lips slowly drink in shallow breaths. She had not seen him sleep so soundly since he had passed out from using the Healing Touch one too many times. She recalled that day, remembering how her body filled with panic as she and Dr. Kasal watched him crumple to the OR floor. Greg quickly checked his vitals and ordered Angie to retrieve a floor doctor and a gurney. She had rushed off in a flash, her professional experience failing her as she frantically flagged down assistance. She could barely decipher the flurry of actions that followed as she lead the medics back towards the OR and they wheeled Derek to a vacant hospital room. Once the dust had settled from the chaos, she could clearly remember standing by his bedside just as she was now, watching him breath slowly.

It was three days before he opened his eyes again. Angie felt a smile tug at her lips as she recalled when he had finally awoken. He was surprised when Dr. Kasal had told him how long he had been unconscious but Derek's concern was not directed towards himself, or what he had missed while he slept, but rather towards his patients. _Just like a real doctor . . ._

Since that day she had felt her trust and respect for him grow. Through the hardships they faced, she found herself seeing him as more than a doctor and colleague. He was a friend. A _good _friend. He was there for her in her greatest time of need, and . . .

_My heart's racing!_

Angie did not even notice her hand moving until she felt her fingers gently brush through Derek's hair. She tensed, feeling her face ignite and heart rate explode, but her hand continued to tenderly pet his locks and Derek did not so much as stir. She sighed and relaxed slowly, then not-so-reluctantly conceded as well. She smiled and brushed his bangs back to admire his face sans glasses. He almost looked like a different person without them. She lifted her hand slowly, letting his hair pour through her fingers, and carefully moved to stroke his cheek. She bit back a small laugh as she felt the tiniest hint of stubble scrape across her fingers and crouched beside the cot. _Looks like you're going to have to shave again soon, Derek._

Angie continued to brush her fingers back and forth over his face, feeling herself grow lightheaded as her body took in deep but silent breaths. She froze without precursor, feeling her breaths become more rapid. For several minutes she could only stare at the man resting before her. She felt her lips part longingly, slowly moving in . . . .

_No . . . _

She jerked away as quietly as she could and stood up, forcing her body to calm. _Remember where you are, Angie. You have a serious mission ahead of you._ She turned towards the opposite wall and controlled her breathing. _I should let him rest. I'll check on him again in fifteen minutes to make sure he's okay._ Hurried footsteps took her to the door as her heart continued to hammer. _Besides, I shouldn't be thinking about him like that. He's a surgeon and I'm his assistant. He's my friend . . ._

The blush began to bleed from Angie's face as she reached the deck. What was she thinking? They were on their way to get rid of Delphi and GUILT once and for all. There was no time for this . . . foolishness! Dr. Stiles was seasick and he would not be able to operate if he were still ill by the time they arrived. She had to help him get better, not . . . . do whatever it was she was doing! "The ginger tea will help him." she said to herself, calming her nerves. "I should probably make sure he eats something before we move in. Wouldn't want him operating on an empty stomach . . ."

_That's more like it. Act like a nurse!_

She made her way towards the railing and gripped it tightly. Holding back emotions was hard, but she could not allow them to compromise the mission. She had managed to hold together during the confrontation with her father. This should have been nothing in comparison.

"I told him I wanted to be here for him, as his assistant, and today, that's all I am." She sighed. "His assistant . . ."

She could not think of him like that. After all, he was only a friend.

A _good _friend . . . .

-----

The world shudders as Picup's evil spreads. Oh good God! It's not! Yes, another story inspired by Thirty Affections! But this . . .it's not just a one shot! It comes in thrices! Is there no hope?!

Yes, I'm still working on Paying the Price chapter 4. I'm just suffering from a bit of writer's block at the moment and this seemed like a good way to get the creative juices a flowin'. So far I'm only planning on doing three.

The chapters thus far are:

Derek: Seasick

Victor: Fever

Leslie: Sore Throat

Gah, please keep a clean mind about you with the last chapter. I know what it looks like . . . stop it! Stop it now! I'll add more if I feel inspired, but that probably won't happen.

For those among us who have only played the Wii version of Trauma Center, when Derek and Angie first arrive at the hidden Delphi HQ she asks him if he's still feeling seasick. Logic denotes that he got nauseas on the ride over and thus this fanfic was born. Also, towards the final surgery in the game, Derek has a flashback to before he had left on this mission. Angie was talking to him, saying that she accepted the mission, partly to make up for her father's sins, but mostly to be there for him. Immediately after that, she said that she didn't mean it like _that._

If you ask me, she's been swimming in a famous Egyptian river. We all know how she _really _feels.

Anyway, please tell me what you think!


	2. Bonus Derek: Headcold

Special bonus story – dedicated to MoonCat! Happy belated Birthday to you!

Trauma Center: Illness  
Derek: Headcold

"Achoo!"

"Bless you."

"Mmmm . . . are you going to say that _every_ time I sneeze?"

Angie whipped around and narrowed her eyes. The washcloth in her hands suffered a devastating twist from her sparked annoyance. "Well, pardon me, Dr. Stiles!" she spat, giving said cloth and additional whip. Derek sighed and started coughing as his breath brushed against his congested chest. "I'm sorry, Angie." he wheezed in between the mild coughing fit. "I don't feel good and it's putting me in a bad mood."

She frowned and lightly dabbed his warm forehead with the cloth. "I understand, but that's no reason for you to act like a big baby."

"I'm not acting like a baby!"

He pitched forward, his retort causing him to go into another hacking fit. On the outside, Angie appeared annoyed as she rolled her eyes. In truth, she was worried, perhaps more worried than she needed to be. His condition was a far cry from terminal, or even serious, but a respiratory infection could lead to bronchitis or pneumonia. The curse of being a medical professional was that it made one a bit of a hypochondriac. It was hard not to worry, seeing what appeared to be everyday ailments turn into something far more severe on a daily basis.

His coughing subsided and she gently pushed him back down on the bed. "I'm sorry, I was only teasing. I didn't mean to upset you." she smiled and placed the cloth back on his head, her light grin somewhere between caring and mischievous. "Tell you what, you can be as grumpy as you want, but you have to do what I tell you."

Derek groaned, "That doesn't seem like a very fair trade off."

"What? All I want you to do is rest and drink plenty of fluids. Is that so much to ask?"

He sneezed again.

"Bless you."

"Mmmmm . . . ."

He sniffled miserably in the wake of the sneeze. She handed him a tissue as he sat up slightly to clean his perpetually running nose. Wiping up as discretely as possible, he frowned somewhat as Angie held out a waste basket overflowing with used Kleenex. "Are you sure you'll be okay? I don't want you getting sick too."

Angie shook her head nonchalantly. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. You just rest."

Derek said nothing as he discarded the tissue and, if he had wanted to express his concern further, a soft moan that escaped him made certain he did not have the chance. Angie blinked, failing to mask her worry. "What's wrong?" Another groan was her response as Derek slowly lifted a hand to press against his forehead. "My headache's coming back."

"I'll go get you some painkillers and more water. Oh, are you hungry? I'll make you some vegetable soup."

"Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks."

She gave him a warm smile and gently pushed him down on the bed again. "Conserve your strength. I'll be back shortly." She pulled the blanket that had crumpled to his lap up to his chest and Derek could not help but smile in response. He could not recall the last time someone had fussed over him so much while he was sick. Angie turned to leave, but he stopped her at the door. "Angie . . ."

"Yes?"

"Thank you, for taking care of me. I really appreciate it."

She looked back at him, smirking warmly. "It's my pleasure. On or off the clock, I'm a nurse, and I take care of people who need me, just like you do."

"Yeah, but, you really didn't have to."

"Oh, hush! I did too."

Derek propped himself up slightly, wordlessly asking her to clarify, and she turned to face him completely.

"After everything you've done for Caduceus and our patients, it's the least I could do, right?" she said with a mild shrug. "Besides, doctors get sick too and _someone_ has to take care of them and, well, I wanted to be that someone."

Much to her protest, Angie felt a small blush bloom on her cheeks. She looked away in a feeble attempt to hide it as Derek's eyes blinked in surprise. "Angie . . ."

"Well, anyway, I'd better get that soup ready!" she said quickly, rubbing the back of her neck. "I can hear your stomach growling from here."

". . uh . . oh . . .bye." Derek stuttered as Angie quickly excused herself, leaving him to stare at the open doorway. He slowly lowered himself back down and rested his head against his pillow. Gazing at the ceiling, he digesting her words. _She really wanted to take care of me._ A sigh escaped him and he smiled. _She's sweet._ His mounting headache pounced upon him again and he grimaced at the pain.

But, he kept smiling.

"Angie, don't forget the Tylenol!"

-----

This is a special thanks to all who had reviewed this and my other stories. I really appreciate your feedback! Sorry if I got anyone's hopes up that the Victor chapter was ready, but it's coming! Stay tuned for that.

In the meantime, I'm going to try and turn my blood into coffee and become immortal.

Disclaimer: Derek Stiles and Angie Thompson are the properties of Atlus. Tylenol belongs to . . . uh . . . Tylenol?


	3. Victor: Fever

WARNING: This chapter contains a _very_ weird and mildly graphic dream sequence. You were warned . . .

Trauma Center: Illness

Victor: Fever

Victor Niguel did **not** get sick. It just did not happen. His colleagues got sick, his patients got sick, but he did not. It just never happened.

And yet, on what was to be an average Tuesday morning, he found it especially difficult to open his eyes. An involuntary moan escaped him after the initial struggle to open them and it did not take him long to figure what had prompted it.

"Dammit . . ."

Another groan followed his whispered curse, his head pounded and his flesh burned mercilessly. He was forced to close his eyes again as a means to protect them from the glare of the digital clock by his bed. His vision swam so much that he was not even able to decipher the time.

"Dammit . . ."

With great effort, he managed to shift on his back and throw off the suffocating blanket. He had a brief moment of relief as the room's cool air contacted his skin, but a sudden jolt of nausea put an end to that. Forced to his feet, as he had no desire to vomit on his sheets, he made a struggled haste for the bathroom and collapsed before the porcelain throne. He spent the next several minutes throwing up violently and mentally stringing together every curse word he knew.

Victor angrily ripped off a small section of toilet paper to wipe his mouth as his body relaxed its regurgitation. Now shaking in the aftermath of it all, he slammed the toilet lid shut and rested his head on it. "Dammit, dammit, dammit!" he growled as he dizzyingly slid to the restroom floor. Gravity pounced upon him quickly, holding him to the spot. Any and all struggles against it proved futile, but the cool tile floor was rather therapeutic against his fever. Under the current circumstances, he would not be going anywhere regardless.

"Fan – freakin' – tastic."

Several minutes of the forced rest later, he found control of his limbs again and managed to get to his feet. Victor dragged himself back to bed through the daze and vertigo. He collapsed on his mattress with a soft thud and desperately wrapped his sheets around his shivering body. No work today, obviously. Even with his intellect, he would be of little help in the lab if he was barely able to walk. Fortunately, his subordinates were competent enough to function without him for a day – or so he hoped. Nothing to do now but rest and let his body take it from there.

Still drowsy from his early awakening, Victor felt himself falling back to sleep. He let out one last aggravated sigh before embracing it and drifting off. Perhaps he would feel better when he woke up. . . .

Or not.

-----

_Victor walked briskly down the hall, his right hand buried in his pocket while his left arm swung lightly with each step. A sudden tug on his free arm broke his tempo, causing him to growl quietly and pull on the rope tied to his wrist. Tiny hoofs clattered against the tile before gently falling into rhythm beside him. _

"_You're late." _

_Sidney Kasal stood next to a set of double doors that appeared before him. "Sorry." Victor replied in his trademark monotone. He reached down to pick up the small goat he had been leading down the hall. He handed it to Sidney, who in turn acknowledged him with a small nod, before he pushed the doors open. _

_Derek and Angie were diligently operating on the other side. Victor approached them, seeing the chest cavity of an unidentified patient pried open. "How is it going?" he asked. _

"_We're almost done. Those test results really sped things up." Angie replied._

_Derek gave the aorta quick and clean slice. Melted cheese began pumping from the punctured vein and he took a tortilla chip, scooping up a generous portion. "Where have you been, anyway?" Derek asked as he turned towards Victor. _

"_Ran into some trouble on the way over here. Where's the chips?"_

_Derek crooked a thumb to an opened chip bag before removing his surgical mask and eating his own. Victor helped himself to a handful as Angie scooped up more cheese from the patient's heart. They ate in silence for several minutes before a small beep sounded. "I have to check on something." Victor mumbled as he checked his wrist watch. "Save me some for later." _

_Derek and Angie responded only with subtle nods as they continued to eat. He walked towards an unmarked door and pushed it open, his normally half closed eyes widened slightly in surprise. He had expected to see his familiar laboratory await him on the other side. He was instead greeted by what appeared to be a red tinted hotel room. However, it was not so much what but who was there that had caught him off guard._

"_It's been a long time, Victor." _

_He felt an unusual flutter in his heart at the sound of the strong, feminine voice. "It's good to see you again." _

"_Cybil . . ." he responded, watching the former police woman approach him. There was a faint whisper of a smirk on her lips as she grasped his hands and pulled him into a kiss. There was no protest from Victor as she explored his mouth with her tongue and invited him to do the same. He complied and she wrapped her arms around his thin waist, pulling him further into the room._

_Cybil lowered herself down onto the double bed, pulling Victor down with her. He slowly pulled out of the savage kiss and began sucking passionately at her neck. A deep moan rumbled in her throat and she leaned her head back. Her hands carefully worked to remove his uniform and Victor was only vaguely aware of his hands doing a bit of exploring of their own. Cybil had courteously worn only a slip on silk robe, making his job that much easier._

_He carefully peeled it off of her shoulders and caressed her exposed flesh. He moved to entrap her in another kiss as he felt his own clothes slip from his body. Cybil ran her hands through his hair before moving them to hold him closer. A groan escaped from Victor, forcing him to break off the kiss. "C. . . Cybil . . you're . ."_

"_Victor. . ." she purred back, her sultry voice causing him to shudder. She captured his lips again, and the flurry of actions that followed washed his body with a pleasure he never thought possible. Once finished, he collapsed beside her on the bed, their Caduceus uniforms back on their bodies. She turned towards him and traced a finger over his chest. He felt her warm breath on his cheek as she leaned closer. "Are you up for a second round?" _

_**Victor? Victor! No . . . !**_

"_The patient's in critical condition!"_

_Derek and Angie were pushing a gurney down the hall. Victor and Cybil were running after them, barely able to keep up, as other various staff members of Caduceus poured from the doors that lined the hall and joined their sprint. They burst through double door after double door, being rewarded only with more tiles and stretched hallway. Not a word was spoken among them as the roar of echoed footsteps filled the air._

_Another set of doors was slammed open, and Victor felt a pair of arms wrap around him from behind. "Don't worry, Victor. I've got you." Cybil's voice whispered in his ear. The stampeding footsteps faded away as he felt himself falling backwards. _

"_Cybil . . ."_

-----

Victor's eyes blinked open, his vision and mind swimming horribly. Regretfully, his fever was still raging and the _strange _dream did not help his disorientation. He only really took in that the room was much brighter than before he went to sleep. He closed his eyes, waiting impatiently for the spinning to cease, before reopening them to gain his bearings. His mind was still foggy, but it took only one glance at the unfamiliar ceiling for him to realize that he was no longer in his bedroom.

Or apartment for that matter.

_What the . . .? Where the hell am I?_

Victor moved his head from side to side, attempting to get a better look at his surroundings, but succeeded in only giving himself a headache. He groaned irately and pressed a hand to his forehead as the room spun once again. He closed his eyes as he waited for the sensation to pass, when he heard muffled footsteps from outside the room. Vaguely familiar voices accompanied them.

". . . Will my brother be okay?"

"Of course. It's nothing life-threatening, but it's still good that you got him here when you did."

"How long will he be hospitalized?"

"A few days, at least. We need to monitor him and make sure his fever doesn't go out of control again."

". . . I see . . ."

He moved his hand and opened his eyes, turning towards the sound of a door opening. Two women entered, the younger of them giving an almost unseen smile upon meeting his gaze. "You're awake. That's a relief." she said indifferently, though her half lid eyes held obvious concern. Victor blinked. "Jessie? What are you doing here?"

Jessie's whisper of a grin vanished as she approached him. "Don't tell me that fever's fried your brain." She said. She pressed her hand against his forehead and flinched slightly at his burning temperature. "I've been transferred to the Angeles Bay weather center for the research project, remember? I just flew in early this morning and got to your apartment after I assumed you left for work. Imagine my surprise when I found you sick and unresponsive."

"Right, I remember now." Victor mumbled. "Where are we?"

"Hope Hospital."

He took a moment to digest the information. _Hope Hospital . . . isn't that where . . ._

"It's good to have you back with us, Victor. You never told me you had a little sister." The second woman said now that the _touching_ sibling reunion was done. Victor recognized the voice immediately, but that did not stop his heart from jumping once the woman came into his field of vision. "Dr. Myers . . . you're looking . . . well."

"It's a shame I can't say the same about you." Cybil replied. "You've got a pretty aggressive strain of the flu. You're lucky that Jessie found you when she did. I doubt you would've died, but I hate to think of what would've happened if you went untreated."

He vaguely took in her words as it was hard to not concentrate on his pounding heart. "I hadn't realized it was that severe." He felt Jessie encircled his neck with a small hug, taking his focus away from his restless innards. "Jessie . . ." he hissed slightly but only prompted her into squeezing him tighter. "What? I can't give my own brother a hug?" she asked.

"It's not that." He sighed. "I don't want you getting sick, too."

"Fair enough, but just give me a moment to express how relieved I am that you're okay."

She gave him a light kiss on the cheek before releasing her hold on him. A small growl of protest came from him and Cybil stifled a short laugh. "I've gotta call the weather center and let them know I'll be late tomorrow. Please take care of yourself, Victor. Thank you, Dr. Myers." As Jessie excused herself, he felt Cybil smirking at him. As if it were not uncomfortable enough being alone in a room with the woman he had just dreamed of having intercourse with. Not to mention the same woman he had secretly been in love with. "Well, you two are close, aren't you?" she said, clearly amused.

"True, we are." Victor grumbled as he turned away from her. He gritted his teeth in frustration, though he could not find it in himself to be angry at his sister, even if her actions had caused him similar embarrassment in the past. "My sister can be quite . . . affectionate. I've gotten used to it."

Victor felt Cybil's fingers against his right hand. He looked up and jerked slightly in response, earning himself a mild yank on the arm. "Hold still. I need to readjust your IV." Cybil snapped. Victor forced himself to still, though it was not easy when the most subtle of her touches sent his heart fluttering. He looked away again in an effort to distract himself only to feel her touch upon his forehead. For once, he was thankful for the fever as it easily disguised his blush.

"Cybil, if you want to keep your hand, you will remove it this instant." He growled. Her eyes narrowed slightly in annoyance, but she smirked that horrible smirk of hers again.

"You better watch it there, tiger. I haven't decided which way I'm going to take your temperature."

Victor growled softly again and shivered as she brushed his hair behind his ear. She arched a brow slightly at his response to her touch. "Are you cold?"

"No, I'm fine." came a forced reply between clenched teeth.

"If you say so." She said and proceeded to take his temperature. He could not help but clench up slightly as she gently pulled on his ear and hope that the lightheaded sensation was a direct cause of his illness. Her mouth twisted oddly as she read the temperature, leaving her expression somewhere between relief and disappointment. "Hmm, 102. Not exactly good, but better than 106." She said.

That had taken Victor off guard enough for him to stop fretting about his emotional dilemma. "It was that high?"

"It was." She replied grimly. "You know, it wasn't very nice of you, scaring me like that."

"You were worried?" Victor mumbled automatically.

"Of course. I worry about all of my patients, especially if one of them happens to be a former colleague."

"That's understandable . . ." he mumbled and closed his eyes.

"Is everything all right, Victor?"

Victor gave himself a mental reprimand for the whisper of disappointment in his voice. Even if he could not help how he felt inside, that was where his petty feelings were supposed to stay. It was already bad enough that he would allow himself to experience inevitable heartbreak. It was inexcusable that he would let it be known to anyone. No one needed to know he was being so foolish.

"Yes, I'm just . . ." he bit his lip and forced himself into silence.

_Don't you _dare _finish that sentence! Just. Keep. Quiet._

The thought echoed in Victor's mind, and the more reasonable part of him focused on the strong repetition. Though, even with the summon of his will power, his emotions were putting up a good struggle. In normal health, he may have had a chance to suppress his inner voice as he had done so in the past. His fever had other plans. The internal heat deluded his will, caused a nauseating vomit from his pounding heart and, before he could stop himself, he heard his own voice betray him. "I'm glad I got to see you again, even if it wasn't under the best of circumstances."

He winced. That was it. The words may have sounded innocent enough to the untrained ear, but Cybil's were anything but that. He had given her all the information she needed. _You idiot! Do you _want_ to be humiliated?! _

He kept his eyes closed tightly, unable to face the consequences of his stupid, male hormones making him say what he had kept secret for two years. The fever, the dream, landing under her care and his bottled up emotions – he had not a chance against them all. Still, what perturbed him the most, was the absolute futility of his confession. With Cybil working this closely to Greg Kasal, there was no chance she would even consider any other man. All he had done was caused discomfort between them both. Karma was a bitch like that.

"You know," she started as Victor braced himself. "you didn't have to make yourself so sick just to see me. You can visit anytime you want."

". . . . ."

"It's always nice to see old friends, isn't it?"

". . . . yeah . . ."

"And Victor?"

He timidly peeled his eyes open and gave her an uneasy glance.

"I'm sorry, but, thanks for understanding."

" . . . . of . . .course. . ."

"For what it's worth, I'm sure we would've had a great time."

" . . . I . . . appreciate that. . . . Thank you."

"I'll let you rest. I'll be back in about an hour to check up on you."

Victor closed his eyes again, unable to bring himself to watch the doctor as she excused herself. Rather, his ears followed the sharp clicks on her shoes, which became muffled and distant as the door closed behind them. He relaxed against the pillows after her departure. "Cybil, you have no idea." He mumbled quietly. He let out a soft breath and kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling. His thoughts lingered back to his dream. While her caress within that realm may have been nothing more than hallucinations caused by the fever, the feeling of them being together was very real. At least, it was as real as he would ever achieve with her.

Drowsiness once again trickled into his mind and he welcomed it. Anything to escape his ill feeling was welcomed. Yet, even as he drifted to sleep, there was a tiny whisper of bitter sweetness that pulsed within him. He may never be able to be with Cybil in the way he wanted to be with her, but he could always dream.

-----

A/N: Eh, that last line was kind of depressing, wasn't it? Poor Victor, being the odd man out and in love with a woman he could never have. One sided love is never kind. I always kind of figured that Victor was attracted to Cybil but kept it inside. After all, being head of Research and Development probably doesn't leave a lot of time for a personal life. Not only that, but the way Cybil was always talking about Greg, he figured she still had feelings for him. No point in trying to win a heart already captured by another man, ne?

Even if that were not the case, I imagine Victor would have a difficult time being touched and taken care of by her when he literally just woke up from dreaming about her.

Obviously, I was aiming for no higher than a T rating, so I know you may have noticed how I went out of my way to secure one.

Another note for those who've only played the Wii version: In the DS version, Cybil decides to quit Caduceus because things have calmed down and she feels it time to move on. Basically, she just wants to be a normal doctor. Tyler mentions that she has connections at Hope Hospital – that being Greg of course. They did briefly touch on the fact that she went to work at Hope in Second Opinion, but it was so short that it was easy to miss. So yeah, Cybil works at Hope now.


	4. Leslie: Sore Throat

Trauma Center: Illness

Leslie: Sore Throat

Anyone who has ever had a sore throat knows just how horrible they are.

Such was the case with Leslie Sears, who was anything but a stranger to illnesses. Granted, she was usually on the other side of the spectrum and taking care of the sickly, but today proved to be a different case. The nurse sat bundled under a large blanket on the couch, channel surfing and doing everything she could to keep her mind off her aching throat. She did have an arsenal of home treatments at her disposal. Cough drops and syrup did manage to provide some relief, but she still found herself wincing with every swallow and grasping her throat in agony.

A knock on her door startled her from her day time TV induced trance. _Mmm, I am not in the mood for solicitors!_ She cradled her blanket around her form and padded to the door, ready to slam it shut should it reveal a salesman, but instead found herself gaping in surprise. "Dr. Chase! What are you doing here?" she said hoarsely, grimacing almost immediately. The blond doctor cast a small grin.

"I wanted to bring you this." He said, motioning towards a silver thermos in his hands. "I know you got a sore throat. I guarantee this'll take the pain away." Leslie blinked slightly at the large thermos and cast an inquisitive gaze between it and Tyler. "Secret family recipe." He answered. "May I come in?"

"Oh . . . I don't want to get you sick too, Doctor." She whispered, but took a step back to allow him in. "But . . . shouldn't you be working?" Tyler gave her a nonchalant nod as he entered.

"I got Tim to help me with the surgery and paperwork; so naturally, we finished with time to spare." He gently led her back to the couch and motioned for her to sit. "Just relax. I'm gonna heat this up a bit."

Leslie's tired eyes followed him to the kitchen and chortled lightly in amusement as he blindly searched the counters and cabinets. An over dramatized soap opera murmured in the background as her focus was on his movements, seeing him withdraw a desired sauce pan, ladle and coffee mug and begin simmering the mysterious contents of the thermos. She watched him slowly stir the pot in silence for several minutes before the pulsing pain in the throat went down slightly, allowing her to inquire. "Why did you go out of your way to bring that to me?"

He glanced over his shoulder as his hand continued stirring. "I just wanted to help you feel better. That's all." His warm smile never dipped as he responded. "It was the least I could do, after you took such good care of Amy. Ah, here we go!"

Light streams of steam stretched out from the pan and he carefully ladled a cupful into the mug. He brought it to her and gingerly placed it in her hands, receiving a gracious nod and smile in return. Leslie slowly brought it to her lips and took in a small sip, letting out a satisfied hum as it caressed her tongue.

It was delicious!

She was unable to place the flavor. It swirled between honey and mint with a solid base of herbal tea, but what she really savored as the instant relief her poor throat felt. The pleasantly warm liquid cascaded down her throat, thin enough to go down easily but thick enough to leave a protective coating in its wake. "This is wonderful!" she exclaimed softly as her throat felt nothing more than an irritated tickle. Tyler laughed at her response. "Take it easy, Leslie. Yer throat still needs to heal."

"Oh yes, of course." She said just above a whisper. She took in a larger sip and hummed again in ecstasy. "Mmmm! What's in it?"

"Ancient family secret. Can't tell." He teased and she gave him a mock pout in response. "Well, if you're going to be like that. But. . . thank you, Dr. Chase. I really . . ."

A loud gurgling from her stomach cut her off. She bit her lip, feeling her flushed cheeks burn even more so as Tyler could not help but laugh. "Ya hungry?"

"Yes, a little . . ." she managed to squeak as her blush raged.

"Well, good thing I thought to bring this too."

Tyler dug through his medical bag, withdrawing a second thermos buried beneath various thesis papers and supplies. "Another family recipe?" she asked as he trekked back to the kitchen. "No, it's mine." He took out another pan and rinsed off the tea ladle before casting her a mischievous smile. "But, it's just as secret."

"Oh, you're horrible, Dr. Chase!"

He laughed again as he poured the second thermos's contents into the pan. Leslie got to her feet, the blanket still wrapped snuggly around her form, as something that smelled vaguely like pasta lured her to the kitchen. "What's this?"

"Tomato basil ravioli soup. It'll be done soon; just had to warm it up again."

Leslie felt her mouth water at the sound of it in addition to the delicious smell. "Mmmm, sounds good."

"What 'till you try it! Perfect for any sickness from a cold to sore throat and . . . hey, speak of the devil!"

The telltale stream poured up from the pan and Tyler ladled a bowl for her. Not waiting for a spoon, she sipped it enthusiastically from the bowl and let out a delighted squeak. "This is the best soup I've ever had!"

"Ha! I knew you'd like it!" he grinned, having already grabbed an extra bowl and two utensils from the drawers. "If you don't mind, I'm gonna have some too. Care for a spoon?"

"Oh, yes please, thank you!"

She took the spoon and all but dived in, ravenously scooping it into her mouth. "Wow, you really _were_ hungry!" he teased, but the taste and hunger she felt had overridden any potential humiliation. She sat back down on the couch as Tyler served himself a helping and joined her, though at a more reserved pace. "Ah, T-P-I-R. That show always seems to be on when you're homesick, huh?"

"Mmm. . ."

Having finished her soup, Leslie moved on to the remainder of the tea. She savored another gulp and let out a satisfied sigh. "I wasn't really watching. Just channel surfing." She said, gently swirling the liquid in her mug.

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with The Price is Right."

"I know . . . I just wasn't paying attention to it . . . that's all . . ."

Leslie continued titling her mug slightly, her gaze fixed on the rippling reflections and light from the beverage. She brought it up slightly to take another drink but stopped half way. She lowered it again, looking at her small reflection as she heard Tyler gently slurp his soup beside her. She stole a quick glance, feeling her face heat up upon seeing his handsome profile. Even through her stuffed up noise, she could smell him; his lingering scent that was reminiscent of Angeles Bay's many beaches. She always liked his smell.

". . . Dr. Chase?"

Tyler set his spoon in his empty bowl, having just finished off his soup. "C'mon, Leslie. Drop the formality for once."

". . .Tyler?"

"Yeah?"

"I know . . . I know you said you wanted to help me feel better, because of Amy. . . but . ."

"Shhh . . . ."

Leslie's voice died as Tyler gently pressed a finger to her lips. Her breath quickened and took in even more of her favorite fragrance as she looked into his eyes, which softly returned her gaze. His radiant grin was gone; replaced with a warm and subtle smile. The pair remained that way as the television continued uninterrupted, providing the only noise in the whole room. "Well, I should get back to work." Tyler murmured abruptly, startling her slightly as he gathered up the dishes. "It's almost noon and you look like you're about to fall asleep."

She gave her head a light shake, realizing that the medicine she had taken earlier was finally starting to kick in. "You should wash your hands. I don't want you getting sick because of me." She yawned.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I _did _go to med school, by the way."

She was about to rise and help him with the dishes, but was instead pushed back down by a gentle hand. "You rest. I got it." Tyler said, helping her ease onto the couch. Another yawn escaped her and her drowsiness only grew as her head met a small throw pillow. "Thank you, Dr. Cha – Tyler."

"You're welcome."

Leslie's eyes closed as the sounds of running water, dishes clanging together and the ever present television filled the back of her mind. She took in a content sigh and smiled. There was virtually no pain in her throat, though that was only one reason for her good mood. Her head grew fuzzy as sleep crept in and the background noises blurred into a single sound, before the TV was silence by a click from the remote. "I put the rest of the soup and tea in the fridge and I'll be back after work to bring you some more."

"Thank you again, Tyler." She muttered sleepily as he straightened out her blanket and draped it over her body. "Anytime." He said, lightly brushing the bangs from her face. "I'll see you tonight. Sweet dreams, Leslie."

-----

A loud knocking roused her from her slumber. Disoriented, she glanced around, noting that the late morning sun had dimmed to twilight. She winched slightly, as the aching in her throat had returned and the pounding at the door was not helping her head. She groggily padded to the door, ready to slam it shut should it reveal a salesman, but instead found herself smiling.

"Hey, Leslie. Sleep well?"

-----

A/N: Honey plus mint plus tea equals goodness; especially if you have a sore throat. It's better to have warm liquids with a sore throat rather than cool because the warmth draws blood to the throat and promotes faster healing. Tomato basil ravioli soup is my favoritest soup ever!

Oh yeah, if anyone's wondering who Tim is, he's my entry for an original character contest on deviantart-com. I put a link to it at the top of my profile, but be warned. I can't draw for dookie!

Extra credit goes once again to Picup. I never would have even considered the Tyler/Leslie pairing if it were not for Thirty Affections.

So, thus ends the Illness trilogy . . .

And here begins the extra bonus!

Mooncat wants me to infect a character of my choice with poison ivy. Who will it be and what madness will ensue? Make me a sammich and find out!


	5. Angie: Poison Ivy

Trauma Center: Illness

Angie: Poison Ivy

It had seemed innocent enough. Angie had decided to spend her break outside and she took a nice, brisk walk around the perimeter of the building. The fresh air and sunshine put her in a good mood, as she rarely got to experience either. She stretched her arms over her head and let out a content sigh.

"Ah! I can't believe it!"

The sudden cry of one, Tyler Chase, brought her from her revere. She looked up to see him looking out a window as a bundled packet of papers fell and settled among the vegetation below. Derek appeared next to him and placed his hands on the window sill, leaning over slightly to see where the packet had fallen. "How in the world did you managed to drop that?" he asked, sending Tyler an inquisitive sideways glance. The latter said nothing more than unintelligible grumbles as he collapsed over the window, his arms dangling lifelessly.

Angie sighed inwardly and smiled. Neither man had noticed her standing not five feet away from the packet's landing area. They were in luck, as her being in the right place at the right time would save them a downstairs trip. "Don't worry, Doctor! I've got it!" she called up to them as she headed towards the bush. Both surgeons shot up upon noticing her, jaws dropping as she reached into the plant.

"Angie! No!" They called out in unison, reaching out an arm as if they could grasp her from danger.

But it was too late. . .

-----

"Mmmrmmph!"

"Don't scratch."

"I'm _trying_ not to, but it's a bit _difficult_."

"Huh . . . and you said _I_ was grumpy when I caught that cold."

Angie grimaced in response to both the agony and taunt, though more so at the former. She could not deny that she was being more than a little curt with her co-workers, though she found it nearly impossible to help herself. "I'm sorry, Dr. Stiles." she hissed slightly, wincing as a rather aggressive itch bit her. Derek gave her a sympathetic look as he snapped on a pair of surgical gloves. "Don't worry about it." he told her, watching as her fingers twitched desperately at the desire to attack her many rashes. Her left hand shot up suddenly and Derek grasped her wrist, preventing it from descending upon her red forearm. "And don't scratch."

She bit her lip, leaning her head back against the hospital bed's pillow and attempting to focus on the ceiling above her. "How did you know that was a poison ivy bush, Doctor?"

"You've never heard the old saying? _Leaves of three; let it be_?"

Angie grimaced. "I guess I'm just not that savvy when it comes to plants."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I learned that lesson the hard way when I was nine." A small laugh escaped Derek as he unscrewed the lid from an ointment bottle. "Looking back on it, it's actually pretty funny." He mused.

"What happened?"

As he placed the bottle on a bedside counter, Angie saw a flash of sadness in his eyes, even as it was over toned by amused nostalgia.

"This was about a year after my dad died. We used to go camping in this one part of the woods just outside of Northbridge. There was this other place off trail that he always used to warn me about, he said it was dangerous. Well, one day me and my friends were feeling intrepid – I guess stupid would probably be a better word here – and we decided to go check it out." Derek paused and let out a breath, somewhere between a sigh and chuckle. "There was this one kid that we used to let him tag along with this. We called him Chunk because he looked like that kid from the Goonies."

"Did he do the Truffle Shuffle?"

"Ugh, all the time, even when we didn't want him too. _Especially_ when we didn't want him to. Here, let me put this on you."

Derek scooped up a handful of gel in one hand and pulled her arm back with the other. "You should start to feel instant relief, but it's going to take a few hours before the itching stops completely." He was right. The cool lotion did sub side the rash as he massaged it into her skin, but the discomfort was still barely tolerable. However, her attention had since been diverted. Her eyes focused on Derek, watching his stoic face as he did what he did best; treating a patient. Her heart skipped as he brushed his fingers over her arm and moved to spread the medicine on her neck. His touch was perfect. Fast and thorough, but gentle, as a doctor's should be.

"Anyway, when we got there, we found this murky looking pond. I was really mad at Chunk that day, can't remember why, so I decided to push him in. He _hated_ water. Problem was that I was pretty small and underweight as a kid. I didn't have enough strength to just shove him in, so I had to get a running start and tackle him. It worked, but I almost fell in myself. I had to grab onto a nearby plant to keep myself from falling in."

"Poison ivy." Angie concluded and Derek nodded in response.

"I was miserable for days after that, especially after my friends told me they would've helped push him in if I just asked them. Well, I had it coming, I guess . . . . Hold still a second."

He scooped up another dollop of the lotion and reached for her cheek. The poison ivy leaves had brushed up against her face and stained her cheeks a rather unsavory red as well, but she was actually glad for it. No one would notice her blushing like mad, especially as he caressed her face. "How is she doing?" Tyler asked as he entered the room.

"Not bad, all things considered." Derek replied, smudging a part of Angie's cheek with his thumb. "Right, Angie?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Thank you, Dr. Chase."

Tyler walked over to the window, crossing his arms and smirking slightly. "Looks like Victor's taking care of the poison ivy."

"Victor?" Derek looked up in surprise. Tyler responded by motioning towards the window. Derek and Angie shared a glance and he finished taking care of her face to see what Tyler was talking about. As he approached the window, a surprised smile broke his expression and he let out a small laugh. "Is that a . . . goat? What is he doing?"

"Well, apparently goats like to eat poison ivy and they can do it without getting sick."

"But . . . why is he, of all people, doing it and where did he get that goat to begin with?"

"Dunno. Let's ask him."

Angie strained to sit up from her position, but only managed to skim the top of the cityscape from her field of vision. "Wait, am I to understand that Dr. Niguel is outside with a goat?"

Tyler looked at her grinning as he nodded his head and opened the window. "He sure is. Hey, Victor!"

"What?!" Angie heard his distant reply.

"Dude, seriously, you _know _you're gonna to have to explain this."

From his position on the ground, Victor glared up at the amused surgeon. "Not much to explain." He said. "Chief wanted me to trim back the poison ivy and this was the quietest way to do it." He took a casual glance at the goat, which grazed at the end of the rope leash he held. "Speaking of which, I'm sure the patients don't appreciate your shouting out the window."

"But . . . the goat . . . where . . ?"

"None of your bus – Raisin! No! Don't eat that!"

Derek and Tyler stiffened slightly before sending one another a bewildered look. There was a mild pause, before barely contained laughter broke it. "R-Raisin? The goat's name is Raisin?" Tyler chortled.

"I didn't name her!" Victor growled. "Shouldn't you be working, Dr. Chase?"

Tyler held up his hands defensively. "All right, all right. I'll leave you and _Raisin_ to your task." Tyler left the room, chuckling, as Derek shook his head and returned to Angie's bedside. "Sorry about that. I just had to see what was happening."

"Don't worry about it." Angie said, grinning herself, as she leaned back down. He returned to placing the lotion on her skin. Angie diverted her gaze towards the ceiling but kept an eye on Derek from the corner of her vision. His face returned to a more focused expression, though his mouth was slightly up curled by the amusing sight he had just witnessed, until she saw him blush suddenly. "Um . . . Angie?"

"Yes?"

"I need to . . . uh . . . that is, your leg . ."

She lifted her head slightly and saw what he was referring to. The inside of her thighs had gotten a rather generous greeting from the plant. Her face heat up as well. "Oh . . . of course, Doctor. Do what you need to." She struggled not to stammer. Derek gulped silently as he moved a hand towards her leg. He massaged the gel in, trying desperately to keep his thoughts clean. Angie was having the same struggle as her heart fluttered at his touch. "How does that feel?" Derek said, stuttering immediately afterward. "The rash! I mean the rash . . how does . . is it still itchy?"

"Y-yes, but it's better now. Th-thank you."

Silence fell upon them as Derek finished applying the medicine. He quickly took off the gloves and drew a thin blanket over her. "Give it an hour or two and the itching should be gone. It may take a day for the redness to disappear but after than you'll be good as new." He picked up his charts but was still blushing slightly. "I need to check on our patients, but I'll be back to see how you're doing." Angie looked up at him with a disguised blush of her own, smiling. "Thank you, Derek."

"You're welcome." He said, returned her smile warmly.

He turned to leave and she leaned her head against the pillow, sighing. He stopped at the door for a moment, looking over his shoulder. "Don't scratch!"

"I'm not going to!" Angie's eyes slightly grew in mild annoyance, leaving Derek one last chuckle as he left. "Gah!"

-----

A/N: _It puts the lotion on its skin . . . ._ I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist. Does it make me lame that I listened to a great deal of 'Poison Ivy' by The Coasters when I wrote this? Yes, Raisin is the same goat that was in the _Fever _chapter.

Speaking of the _Fever_ chapter, as my prize for winning the first fanfiction contest held by Caduceus HQ on deviantart, I received a fanart of portrait Jessie, Victor's sister. I pasted a link to it in my profile, just above the general statistics for her. It's near the very top of my profile. Check it out, or not, 'tis up to you.

I must say I'm very pleased with it. I asked the artists to go strictly off of their perception of Jessie rather than my own, and it's actually pretty close to what I had in mind.

Oh yeah, I forgot to write disclaimers for the _Fever_ and _Sore Throat_ chapters, so . . . . (takes a deep breath)

**Disclaimer: Derek Stiles, Angie Thompson, Tyler Chase, Victor Niguel, Cybil Myers and Leslie Sears are property of Atlus. **

But guess what, _TC: Illness_ fans? There's another chapter in the works! Yay! Stay tuned and don't forget to check out my other stories as well.


	6. Greg: PostOp

Spoiler Warning: Mild spoilers for the beginning of chapter four of the game. Nothing major revealed, but . . . ya know . . . just a friendly heads up.

Disclaimer: Greg Kasal, Cybil Myers and all other Trauma Center characters are property of Atlus.

Trauma Center: Illness

Greg: Post-Op

Waking up from surgery was very disorienting. The transition to and from consciousness was abrupt, which did not at all aid the grogginess one felt from the anesthesia and any other medication. Having witnessed and preformed countless operations, Dr. Kasal understood that his patients were going to be a little more than confused upon being roused from their drug induced sleep. Yet, having never actually had surgery himself, he always wondered what exactly they were going through upon waking.

He wondered no more.

As his eyes blinked open and he found his surroundings transformed from the operating room to his recovery ward, he struggled feebly to piece a coherent thought. He felt like he was dreaming. Everything swirled around before his eyes and each abstract part of the puzzle evaporated as he reached to put it together. He blinked as a solid figure came into his vision, haloed by the blurred backdrop. Cybil stood beside him, her face steeled and professional as her time in the police force had crafted it. Her eyes were framed perfectly to reflect this, but he could see a sparkle whisper from within them.

"Greg?" she murmured. Her tone was soft, unusual for her, yet it cut straight through the fog that plagued him. He had not heard that voice in years. He _had_ to be dreaming.

"Cybil . . . it's been too long." His voice sounded so feeble and alien to himself, but he was relieved all the same. The words quivered in his throat and his parched lips stung slightly as they pushed his voice out. He tethered onto the feeling as his senses slowly returned, which made the slight smile Cybil gave him even better. "You're okay." She spoke with a louder volume and turned away slightly, lifting her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose. The glint from her right eye managed to escape, sliding down her cheek and disappearing quickly, but not fast enough to go unnoticed by the surgeon.

"Dr. Stiles did well." He mused as his thoughts began to fall into place. "I have nothing else to teach him. He's a real doctor now."

Cybil turned back to him and nodded. "Yes, he's really learned a lot from you."

"My brother tells me you've been keeping an eye on him."

"Yeah, the kid looked like he could use some guidance, but it looks like he's found his path."

"He'll make a great surgeon."

The fog around him finally cleared. Greg took a breath, testing his body and feeling a dull pain in his abdominal area. The numbness slowly melted away from his arms as he flexed his fingers. He pulled his arms underneath him and pushed himself up, gaining about an inch of elevation before he was pushed back down. "You need to rest!" Cybil's insistent response was accompanied by a hand pressing firmly against his chest, just above his beating heart. She looked at him with a strange hybrid of a soft and hard glare. It entranced him in an odd way, seeing her menacing hawk stare surrounding her fretful eyes. He had never met another woman that could pull off such a look. As he looked back into her eyes, retracing the image he had imprinted from their college days, he wondered if she could feel his heart fluttering against her palm. "Are you . . . going to just leave your hand there?" he asked.

The perfect frame of Cybil's eyes broke as she realized what she was doing. She removed her hand nonchalantly, as if to negate the crimson twinge that settled on her cheeks. "I've . . . missed you." He heard himself say. The crimson spread in surprised reaction to his words, and Greg could feel a bit of it splash his own face. He had not been expecting it any more than she had, but he found himself continuing. "We haven't directly spoken to each other since med school. How did we let that happen?"

"I don't know. It's not as if we didn't know how to get in touch." Cybil chuckled. The absurdity of having their friendship frozen as it had been was not a new concept to her. Meeting up _should_ have been easy. She had come close to initiating a friendly get together for the two of them. Nothing fancy; a quick cup of coffee or perhaps a movie. Yet, just as she was about to cross the threshold, her nerves would bite and her limbs would fail her. She would never admit it, but if there had been one thing to break through the Iron Vixen's steel defenses and determination, that would have been it.

"We probably won't have time to spend together for a while. Caduceus will be busy and I'm sure Hope will be getting a good amount of patients at this rate." Greg mused, a sliver of regret weaving through his words. He had not fared much better than she had. His calm and cool demeanor had never failed him through even the most stressful of situations, regardless of whether he had a dangerous operation or sizable conference to lead. Yet, he had grown frustrated at how his nerves clenched up the moment he picked up the phone.

"Can we spend time together . . .now?" Cybil asked.

"Now? Are you sure this is a good time?" Greg almost cursed himself for saying that. His professionalism was doing him in.

"You're not leaving here until you're fully recovered if I have anything to say about it, and I _do_."

The Vixen had this under her paw and she was not going to let what had eluded her for years squirm from her grasp now. Greg gave a drowsy smirk. For once, he was thankful that he was not as stubborn as his brother. "You haven't changed a bit."

"I hope that's a good thing." She said, smiling.

"It is. Trust me."

A mischievous grin broke over her face, praising homage to her animal namesake. She raised an index finger to her mouth, wordlessly hushing him, before she slowly brought it to his lips. "Not another word out of you, okay?" she whispered. Greg indulged in the rarity of her soft voice. He had forgotten how it sweetly dripped from her tongue, like honey. It soothed him. "Okay, not another word." He whispered back, his breath tickling her finger. "With the exception of those previous words, in which I simply stated that I would not be saying another . ."

"Oh hush already!" The nerves nibbled threateningly at her and she could feel her core trembling, but she would have none of that this time. She lifted her finger from his mouth and replaced it with her lips. He eagerly welcomed them and they drank in the kiss, savoring it for each year it was delayed.

The Vixen had finally caught her prey. As for Greg, well, he suddenly was not in such a hurry to return to Hope anymore.

-----

A/N: Greg and Cybil were a bit hard to write, considering they never directly interacted with one another in either UtK or SO. Ugh . . .

I've been getting a good number of requests to have Cybil fall ill next, so I guess I've no choice but to comply. The old switcharoo – Greg will be taking care of her . . . or maybe Victor? Maybe it'll be a fight between the two to see who gets to nurse her? An old fashioned battle between men to win a woman's heart . . . in the mud! Greg and Victor mud fight teh hawt!


	7. Cybil: PostOp

Trauma Center: Illness

Cybil: Post-Op

"How are you feeling, Dr. Myers?"

Cybil bit back a groan as she blinked her eyes, trying to flush out the last bits of grogginess. She took an unsteady breath as pain induced nausea pulsed through her. "I've felt worse." She muttered hoarsely. A short chuckle rippled to her in response. Her surroundings slipped sickeningly in her eyes and she narrowed them, forcing the room to still. She managed to get a better look around before the images began to spill in front of her. Fatigue tingled in her eyes as she closed them. "Bedside vigil . . . that's not like you, Victor." She felt him stiffen at her bedside and a defensive shrug jerk at his shoulders.

"What? I can't keep an eye on my colleagues?"

She chuckled slightly, regretting it immediately when a sharp pain cut through her. Agony clenched her face tightly and a hiss almost slipped from her teeth. "You're going to want to keep as still as possible." Victor said, reaching for something at the bedside. Cybil felt her glasses being slipped back on her face and she opened her eyes. Her vision was still blurred, but the grim undertone of Victor's normally indifferent expression came into focus. "You had GUILT. Paraskevi."

"Ah, the 'pain in the ass' as you so eloquently dubbed it."

"You almost died, you know."

A brief silence descended heavily upon them and Cybil's thoughts squirmed slightly under the pressure of it. "I'm sorry." She mumbled.

"Don't be. I'm just glad you're okay."

They both heard a light knocking at the doorway. Cybil's view of the door had been obstructed, but Victor saw who was standing at it clear as day and, had her attention not been diverted, she would have seen a scowl twitch underneath his stoic expression. "Oh, you have a visitor." His voice was slightly strained as he lapped up the displeasure that dripped from his tongue. His tone had gone unnoticed as Cybil focused on the footsteps that started into the room. Her heart pulsed with a jolt as a familiar pair of brown eyes met her own. Victor coughed. "I'll leave you two, then." His hasty steps cut through the air, bringing the other two out of their soft daze. They broke their gaze and turned to his retreating form. "You don't _have_ to leave." Greg tried to say.

"I have to get back to my lab." He cut in and proceeded with his rigid exit, not bothering to spare a glance back.

Greg twisted his mouth as Victor disappeared from his vision and he turned back to the recovering woman. "What's with him?"

"Don't mind Victor. He's a good kid, but as your brother likes to say, he doesn't _observe manners_." Her mouth pulled itself into a smirk. "I suppose that's the Chief's way of saying he needs to get laid?"

Greg laughed. Another warm heart beat flushed her veins as she let the sound wash over her. It was strong and controlled, just like him. Hearing his rich chuckle caused her to laugh as well, but that was quickly swallowed up by a hiss of pain. He was at her side in an instant. "Are you all right?" Cybil bit and forced the pain down her throat. "I'm okay." She grunted. She refused to show any weakness, though this became difficult as he gently brushed her bangs from her eyes. "I was worried when I heard." He said, a blush coming to the both of them. "Now I know what I put you through."

She closed her eyes and took in his words, and then slowly, a sly grin broke over her face. Gently, she lifted her eyelids and revealed a sharp and narrow stare. "You can make it up to me, you know."

Her lips soon found themselves being hugged by his. Their mouths grappled gently and she sighed as he pulled back, her content breath forming into a pained choke. The medication was fading and her internal injuries were burning in its wake. She took a quick gasp, desperate to keep her agony inside, but it forced itself out. Sweat seeped onto her forehead as a grating cry scratched her throat. She felt Greg's warmth descend upon her, his hand squeezing her own and his other caressing her cheek. "Cybil, you don't have to hide your pain from me." He whispered soothingly. "There's _nothing_ you have to hide from me." She let out a few more labored gasps, but they died down slowly to paced, rhythmic breathing. She opened her clenched eyes and smiled. "I . . . I'm better now. I really am." She added the last part upon noticing his eyes knitting upon her. "Will you . . . stay with me?"

"Of course."

He embraced her as best as he could and ran his fingers through her hair. Her toothy grin melted into a soft smile and her sharp eyes followed, wrapping her mahogany irises tenderly. He leaned in and kissed her again. His sweet breath narrowed her eyes and a feather's touch caressing them as they closed to mere slits. The Iron Vixen was gone, miles away, leaving only a woman in the arms of the man she loved.

-----

A/N: The old switcharoo indeed. Yeah, Victor's a bit bitter in this one, but he comes to terms with himself later on, after he and Greg have their mud fight.

And another wonderful suggestion from Mooncat!

A character of my choice is to befall hay fever. I wasn't sure which character is should be, when it suddenly hit me with a flash. I think I'm taking a bit of a risk with this next one, but hey. No guts; no glory.

**Special notice for those awaiting the next chapter of **_**Paying the Price**_

I'm going to have to raise the rating from T to M. I hadn't realized just how dark and violent the next chapter would be until I finished writing the skeleton. Just a warning, because it's going to get _bloody, gory,_ and down right _disturbing_!


	8. Jessie: Hay Fever

A/N: OFMG! OC CENTRIC!! This is a continuation of the _Fever_ chapter, so if you don't know how Victor ended up in the hospital, you might wanna read that one. Oddly enough, this has the word 'fever' in the chapter title. Purely unintentional, I assure you.

Trauma Center: Illness

Jessie: Hay Fever

Angeles Bay, California: the beautiful costal city of sun, surf, and pollen.

To say that Jessie Niguel was having a rough trip would be putting it mildly. Her time in Angeles Bay had started off bad enough, what with having to rush her ailing brother to the hospital and all. She was still worried about Victor's condition, but things had smoothed out a bit once he was treated and she was getting settled with her temporary co-workers.

That was when the local allergens decided to make her acquaintance.

There was something to be said about performing calculus based physics and organizing various data with burning, watery eyes and a stuffy nose. Jessie could do it, but only with the aid of a few colorful phrases she had burned to her vocabulary. This technique was also how she survived the bus rides to and from work. Inner city buses had a tendency to be cramped and the bumpy ride did nothing for her sinuses. She was miserable, in truth, and misery loved company. Such company had unwittingly sought her out, with nothing more than a routine phone call.

Jessie had just finished a mild coughing fit when Victor's phone hummed in her pocket. She grumbled into her handkerchief as she fished it from her lab coat, squirming against the other passengers that crushed her on both sides. "Hello?" She grunted, her irate mood only emphasizing her scratchy voice.

"Oh . . . sorry, I think I have the wrong number."

"Depends. You calling for Victor Niguel?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"I'm his sister and he's not available right now. Call back later."

"Wait!"

She had already pulled the phone away from her ear and was ready to fold it shut when the caller had yelled out. His voice was clearly heard by those around her, causing a few unwanted glances to be cast her way. Jessie sighed, her throat itching, and she brought the phone back to her temple. "What?"

"My name is Timothy Ficsher and I'm from Caduceus."

"He can't come into work. He's been in the hospital for the last two days. You should know that."

"Yes, but Dr. Niguel needs to see this file right away. It's very important."

"I reiterate. He. Is. In. The. Hospital. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I _know_ that. He requested _himself_ that this be brought to him."

Jessie was silent for a while, taking a strong sniffle from her stuffed nose. "What's your name, again?"

"Timothy Ficsher."

"Right, okay Dr. Ficsher . . ."

"Nurse Ficsher, actually . . ."

". . .Okay, Nurse Ficsher, stay where you are."

With a flick, the cell phone was folded shut and stuffed back into her pocket, only to be replaced with a fresh tissue. A few good sneezes raked her body and she wiped her runny nose clean. Jessie pulled the tissue away from her face and looked for a proper place to dispose of it, but instead found herself on the receiving end of several scrutinizing eyes. "What are you all looking at?!"

Across the city, Tim pulled the phone away from his ear as the dial tone purred at him. He blinked at it, confused, and slowly set it back on the receiver. "Is everything all right, Nurse?" Tim looked up at Dr. Clarks; the doctor's curious look mirrored his perplexed feeling. "Everything's fine . . . I think." He received a raised eyebrow from the surgeon. He shrugged slightly and ran a hand through his hair as a realization struck him. "Say, Dr. Clarks, did you know Dr. Niguel had a sister?"

-----

"Victor, wake up."

Victor grumbled slightly at the hand that shook him awake. His eyes clenched tightly as he stirred irately, his bangs slowly sweeping across his sweat glistened brow. After allowing himself that small fit to denote his displeasure, his eyes blinked open and he took the initiative to greet his visitor. "Jessie . . . you look like crap." he muttered.

A small twitch of an eyebrow and scoff preceded a more verbal response. "And you're looking positively radiant yourself, dear brother."

She knew he was right. At the very least, she knew she could not have looked any better than she felt. On the other hand, Victor _was_ looking better. He was still several shades paler than his normal complexion, which was worrisome considering that his skin was borderline vampiric, but he regained enough of his strength to easily push himself into a sitting position. He did just that, examining her through his narrowed hawk eyes. "You got sick from me. I was afraid of this."

"No, I'm not sick. It's just hay fever; allergies." Her shoulders locked as a cough threatened to expel from her lungs. She cleared her throat, masking its escape as best she could. "Anyway, I got a call from someone at Caduceus. Timothy Ficsher . ."

"Fischer . . . he's got that file I asked him for, I take it?"

"Yeah, about that. . . ." her blood shot eyes narrowed. ". . . just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Victor blinked. "Pardon?"

"You're _sick_, Victor! You need to rest! You shouldn't be working . . ." Her words were shattered by a sneeze. Victor looked at her coolly.

"_You're_ working . . ."

"I'm not the one being hospitalized . . . and it's just allergies."

"People can die from allergies, you know."

"Right, I know, but . . ." she sighed. "I'm just worried about you."

"I understand, but I can't afford to get behind in my research. People's lives are at stake."

". . .but . ."

"This conversation is over, Jessie."

She sniffled and stuttered for a moment, before easing herself into a mild glower. "You infuriate me sometimes, you know that?" she said. His gaze softened slightly, reverting back to his usual indifferent glare as he crossed his arms. "The feeling is mutual." he replied. The sharpness in Jessie's eyes let up as well, leaving the two of them to stare at one another apathetically. She stepped through the pseudo static between them and embraced him, hugging his head to her chest and resting her chin on top. "Don't work too hard, okay? Please take care of yourself." she murmured.

"You should take your own advice." he replied, wrapping his arms around her waist to feebly return the hug.

"It's just allergies . . ."

"Jessie, I can clearly hear moderate congestion in your lungs. You may want to see a doctor."

"You _are_ a doctor."

Jessie let out a small grunt of pain as Victor tugged on her hair. "You know what I mean, Jess." She let go of him and rubbed her scalp, wincing slightly. "Okay, tell you what. I'll pick up some Benadryl at a drug store and if my allergies don't clear up, I'll see a doctor." Victor said nothing as his arms returned to their folded position. Jessie returned his cool gaze and stuffed her hands into her pockets. "I'll go see that Ficsher nurse and have him bring you the files personally. You'll have them by tonight."

"I appreciate that." he murmured. A tiny smirk twitched his mouth as she leaned in and gave him a small kiss on the forehead. "Honestly, Jessie . . ."

"What? I'm simply expressing my unconditional love for my older brother. It's not like we're making out."

"Whatever . . ."

She shrugged, slinging the strap of her soft briefcase over her shoulder. "I'll see you later tonight, with the documents you requested, but you've got to promise me you won't stay up all hours reading it. You still need sleep."

"I'll remind you that I _was_ asleep until you woke me up." he said, mild amusement flashed in his eyes as his sister's shoulders perked up.

"Well, I can't talk to you if you're sleeping, can I?" she grumbled. "Are you going to promise me or what?"

"Fine, I can manage that, as long as _you_ keep your promise to do something about your hay fever. I really don't want our positions to be reversed."

"They won't be."

She gave him a quick nod and petite smile, which he returned. She departed, leaving Victor with the ever tranquil – and down right boring – atmosphere of his isolation room. He sighed, slowly reaching for a book on the table and thumbing through the pages. "Hmm . . . Dresden, you're such an unlucky wizard."

-----

Senior Nurse Marianne Rangel was tired. Years of working as a nursing supervisor had left their marks on her slightly wrinkled face. She was thankful when her hard work and dedication had earned her a position on the front line of medicine. It was an honor, to be sure, but it also meant working with nurses just as caring and hardworking. Dealing with timid kids just out of nursing school and stuck up, jaded nurses is what had truly aged her. Caduceus nurses were much better behaved, even taking the chatterboxes that liked to spread rumors into account.

Still, she was tired. The front line of medicine had brought new opportunities and a load of work to back it up. She inhaled the sweet vapors of her coffee mug and was about to bring it to lips when her phone rang. She sighed. "Nurses' Station. This is Rangel speaking." She stared longingly at her coffee as she leisurely absorbed the secretary's words. "Yes, he's here . . . . did she leave her name? Okay, yes, thank you."

She hung up the phone and rose slowly, stretching out her sore muscles. She grabbed her coffee mug as she pushed her office door open and stepped into the nurses' lounge. A tuft of blond hair fluttered slightly in the corner of her eye. She turned, seeing that it belonged to the nurse in question. She approached him as he combed through a clipboard in his hands and she cleared her throat, not wanting to startle him.

"Nurse Ficsher, there's a girl at the front desk requesting to see you."

"Wha?" Tim looked up from the patient file. "A girl?"

"Ohh, I bet she's a secret admirer! You're so lucky!" Leslie chirped, prompting him to blush wildly.

"Wh-what!?"

"That's enough, Nurse Sears."

Leslie stopped her teasing, but she was unable to suppress her giggles. Rangel sighed and shook her head slightly and Tim coughed, attempting to regain his composure. "So, this girl . . . who is she?"

"She left the name 'Niguel'."

"Niguel? Ah, she must be Dr. Niguel's sister. I spoke with her earlier . . ."

"Victor has a sister?" Leslie asked.

"Did she say what she wanted?"

"She said it pertained to your conversation." Rangel said.

"Victor has a sister?"

"I think I know what she's here for. I better not keep her waiting."

He excused himself without another word, still blushing slightly from Leslie's teasing. The nurse in question blinked and turned to her superior. "Did _you_ know Victor had a sister?"

-----

In Tim's humble opinion, it was quite a strange thing when one recognized a person they had never met. Even stranger considering he did not know of her existence until late that afternoon. Yet, there she was, standing out among the crowd of front line workers and visitors. There was nothing particularly remarkable about her appearance. Oddly enough, it was her midnight black hair that first caught his attention. She did not style or perm it, going only so far as to keep it well combed, clean and flowing just past her shoulders. Certainly not an unusual sight, though he later figured that it was the way it brought out her milky complexion that attracted his eye. It certainly did remind him of the head of R&D, but it was her eyes that had cast away all doubt. Analytical and sleep deprived, her eyes were unmistakably familiar . . . and red. She gently dabbed at her watering eyes with her sleeve before stuffing it back in her pocket. She blinked, settling an indifferent gaze on him. "You're Ficsher?"

He nodded, stepping forward and extending a hand. "Yes, and you're . . ."

"Jessie Darlene Niguel."

She returned the nod and accepted his hand, leading it into a short handshake. "All right, let's go." Jessie stuffed her hands back in her lab coat and turned, much to Tim's confusion. "Wha? Go where?"

"To see my brother." She stopped and glanced over her shoulder. "You need to give him that file, right?"

"Yes, but . . ."

"Do you have it on you?"

"Yes, but . . ."

"Then let's go."

"But . . . wait a second!"

She sighed and turned to face him fully. "What now?"

"You're sick!"

"Allergies. Just allergies, it'll be fi - hey!"

Jessie yanked at the hand that encircled her wrist, pitching forward when she was unable to break free. "What are you doing?!"

"Treating you." Tim turned towards her slightly and retained his grip on her. A crackling growl escaped her, prompting a cough from her irritated throat. She dug her heels into the floor as she choked into her hand. Even with her weight put into it, he continued to drag her down the hall as if she were going along willingly. Tim was not a particularly muscular man, but his job as a nurse was physically demanding. Between picking up patients, carrying equipment and rushing to assist doctors when a patient started coding, he had gotten a decent about of exercise. For him, overpowering a thin and petite girl like Jessie was effortless.

"Look, I just want to have a look at you." he said, keeping his head forward. "You can go into shock if your allergies keep progressing like they are. If they're as serious as they look, you need to be treated right away."

Jessie let out another sigh, clutching her chest as it began to tighten. She winced slightly; more as a sudden rush of her own foolishness overcame her than the difficulty she had breathing. She did not think that her condition was really something to worry about. True, she knew some allergic reactions could prove fatal, though those were mostly food allergies, which she did not have. Yet, when faced with Tim's blunt pre-diagnoses, she had to accept that she had no idea what was happening inside her body.

Besides, she promised Victor.

She stopped pulling on the nurse's arm and began walking to match his pace. "You can let me go now. I'll co-operate." He stopped and turned to face her, silently looking her over. Jessie followed his light blue eyes and grew angry when she found him overlooking her entire body. A tiny growl that rattled her throat was quickly extinguished as his eyes returned to meet hers and he let go. She cradled her hand and cast him a glare. "What the hell was that?" she asked.

"I have a knack for telling if someone is going to resist or not. I just had to be sure you weren't going to run once I let you go."

She stopped rubbing her wrist as her mouth and eyes widened slightly. She blinked twice, pressing her lips together and slimming her eyes. "So, you just jerk people around?" He shrugged, some how managing to look professional and nonchalant at the same time. "There aren't a lot of things I don't tolerate, but a patient ignoring a medical professional's advice is one of them."

"Hm, you're a no nonsense man under that skittish exterior?"

"You could say that. This way, please."

Tim led her down the hall and made an abrupt turn into an exam room. Jessie followed, still simmering as she walked towards a papered cot and settled herself upon it. The sudden and loud crinkle of the paper snapped her anger in two. Her rage all but shattered, she slowly shrunk into herself as she scanned the room. Tim glanced at her huddled form. "You're not nervous, are you?" he asked, startled as she tensed in response. "No! Why would I be?" He nodded and reached for a stethoscope from the wall, knowing better than to press the subject. He approached her, placing in the ear plugs and pressing the chest piece against her sternum. "Okay, deep breath, please." She did so, prompting Tim to pull the chest piece away and blink in amazement. "Wow . . . you're really congested."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

Tim ignored her snide remark, throwing the stethoscope around his neck and began rummaging through the cabinets. Jessie gripped the edges of the cot tightly as she allowed her vision to wander. She noticed that a laminated Garfield poster was suspended on the ceiling, just above the cot. Her mouth pulled into a smirk of short lived nostalgia as she read one of the orange cat's famous one liners, when an ominous snap brought her attention back to the nurse. A sinking feeling spread through her stomach as she watched Tim pull a pair of latex gloves over his hands. She bit her lip as he dabbed a cotton ball with cleansing alcohol, having a suspicion that she was not going to like what was up and coming. What she saw next vindicated the chill that pulsed through her.

Tim peeled a sterile plastic wrapper from a fresh syringe. A strong heart beat shook her veins. "Hey, wait a second! What are you doing?! What is that?!"

"This is an extra strength antihistamine. It's very quick and effective."

"Can't I just take a pill or something?"

"No, your allergies have progressed too far and we need to get them under control right away." Tim had heard the apprehension in her voice clearly, but he was still a little taken back when he turned to face her. Jessie's eyes were locked on the syringe, her paled face nearly ghastly against her black bangs. He slowly lowered it to his side, hoping it would seem less imposing. "Are you afraid of needles?" She looked at him, gripping the cot edge tightly again before lowering her gaze to the floor. "I'm not fond of them." she muttered.

Tim nodded. "It's okay. A lot of people hate getting shots." He approached her cautiously, her form recoiling with every step he took. "Is there anything I can do to help you calm down?"

"I am calm." she muttered again, quickly pushing up the sleeve of her left arm and looking away. Tim looked at her sympathetically as he gently disinfected her arm. She flinched as he did so, clenching her eyes tightly and gritting her teeth. He threw the alcohol soaked cotton ball in the trash and took off the needle's cover. "It'll just be a quick pinch . . ."

"Don't patronize me!" she hissed. "Just . . . get it over with."

"Right, I'm sorry." Tim quickly plunked in the needle. Jessie let out a small moan as it penetrated her skin but was otherwise still. Tim withdrew the syringe and tossed it, placing a bandage over her shot. "There. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Okay, you gave me the stupid shot." She rolled down her sleeve. "Can we go now?"

He nodded. "Let's go."

-----

The night wind was quick to strike that evening and Tim found himself shivering the moment the automated doors slid open. Jessie was unphased, walking straight into the thick of it. She stopped on the sidewalk of the parking lot, looking back and forth as Tim braved himself for the chilly air. "So, where's your car?" she asked.

"I don't have one. Don't you?"

Jessie gave him a sideways glance before walking into the lot. Tim followed, wondering if he had insulted her. "If I had one, it would be in Seattle." she responded.

"Seattle?"

"Yes, Seattle, I live there. I've just been assigned here temporarily."

"Wow . . ." Tim murmured. "So, then, you're saying you don't have a car in Seattle either, right?"

She stopped, casting him a glare to rival the cold evening. He felt, more than heard, himself begin to break into a stutter. "Uh, I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean to . ."

"Hurry up or we're going to miss the bus."

She walked off, leaving him in her wake before he regained composure and followed. She let out a pronounced sigh as they boarded and retrieved her bus pass from her pocket. "This bus fare is worse than my allergies." Jessie mumbled as she swiped it. Tim copied her actions and took a seat beside her. "At least this city is getting friendlier towards public commuters."

"Really?" She arched a brow. "Is that why I'm always sandwiched between two fat asses who never shower and pass gas every seven seconds?"

A hearty laugh escaped him. "Not this time, I hope."

"Well, you're not fat and you don't seem like the type to neglect basic hygiene. If you _do _have to fart, though, aim it away from me."

"Dooly noted." Tim chuckled.

His laughter died down as the bus hissed into motion. He looked out the window, watching the lights from various buildings and street posts sparkle against the evening's curtain. He saw Jessie move from the corner of his vision, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. She placed her chin in both hands, seemingly engrossed with the moving scenery. "You know, I couldn't help but notice . . ." Tim started. She glanced at him, moving her head ever so slightly. "You're wearing a lab coat."

"Indeed I am." she responded, turning her gaze back to the window.

"You're a scientist."

She perked up slightly at that, lifting her chin from her hands and folding her arms over her knees. "Quick! Somebody give his man a cookie!"

"Ha ha, very funny, I just wanted to ask. What do you do for a living?"

"Well, why didn't you just ask, silly?"

"Silly?" He could not help but parrot as Jessie pushed herself upright.

"I'm an atmospheric researcher. I study how climate change is going to effect agriculture."

Tim raised his eyebrows. "Really? I never heard of a job like that."

"Yeah. Unfortunately, when people hear of meteorology, all they think about those weather forecasters on the news or storm chasers."

Jessie sat back and closed her eyes as a small yawn escaped her. Tim tucked his briefcase under his arm and leaned against his seat as well. "Hey, uh, Miss Niguel?"

"Mm?"

"I'm sorry if I was a little controlling back at the hospital."

"Don't worry about it." she slurred as she yawned again.

Jessie felt her head dip forward slightly, as if gravity were gently tugging at her bangs. She blinked her eyes as she pulled her head back up, shaking it slightly. Fatigue nibbled at her forehead and slowly frosted over her brain. She narrowed her eyes as her vision began to blur, forcing everything into focus. It was a futile attempt. Everything before her doubled and melted dizzyingly. She shut her eyes tightly, trying to grip at her surroundings as they slipped away.

Tim was startled by the sudden weight on his shoulder, even more so when he looked over and saw Jessie resting against him. A blush spread across his face and he froze, afraid that she would lash out at him if he made any sudden movements. Her breath was slow and deep, signaling that she had fallen asleep or, more appropriately, had passed out. "Crud . . ." Tim whispered.

The medication was known to make people drowsy. Lightweights appeared to be affected by the medication the most and as luck would have it, Jessie had fallen into that category. He doubted that she was in any mortal danger from an overdose, but Tim decided it would be a good idea to check her vitals; just in case. He placed his fingers on her neck and monitored her heart rate.

"Performing first aid on the lass, eh?"

"Ack!"

Tim jumped at the sudden voice and Jessie nearly fell from her seat. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against his body. Every inch of his face was stained scarlet as he looked up at a chuckling middle aged man that stood before the two, gripping onto an overhead support bar. "Thi-this young woman had received m-medication and I was . . . uh . . . checking her vitals to . . . rule out a p-possible overdose." Tim fumbled horribly. Fortunately, at this time of night the normally crowded buses would host only a few occupants. Unfortunately, it also made him an easy target for scrutiny. He could even feel the bus driver's eyes flicker upon him in the rear view mirror.

"Is that so, eh?" The man chuckled and stroked his beard. "You both work at a hospital?"

"Huh?" Tim looked down, recalling that he still had his nurse uniform on. "Oh . . . well, I do but she . . . she's a relative of one of the doctors there."

"Hm, and would this doctor approve of you holding her like that?"

It was only with a sputtered breath and an impossibly deeper shade of red on his face did he realize he was all but hugging the unconscious girl. He sank into his seat and attempted to situate her so that she would not fall to the floor, much to the amusement of the other bus patrons. This was going to be a _long_ ride.

-----

Jessie groggily blinked her eyes open and shivered slightly. While the right side of her face was pressed against something warm, her left was exposed to the chilly evening wind. She heard footsteps just below her as the hiss of angry traffic pounced upon her senses. It did not take her very long to realize she was being carried, bridal style, by a man her foggy mind could not register.

Tim's first indication that Jessie had regained consciousness was the fist that cracked against his cheek bone. "Ah! Hey!" He recoiled from the hit, desperately tightening his hold on the girl so as not to drop her. Regretfully, that was met with fierce resistance and another punch to his face. "Let me go!" she yelled, squirming and flailing her way out of his grasp. She fell roughly on the sidewalk and quickly got to her feet as Tim stumbled backwards. Her muscles had not quite woken up yet and she nearly collapsed under her own weight. She hugged a light post for support as her head spun.

"Miss Niguel, it's okay! It's just me!"

Jessie turned towards the voice and saw Tim approach with his hands raised defensively. He allowed himself a petite gulp as she cast him a befuddled stare, thankful that the street was nearly abandoned. "F . . Ficsher . . ." she mumbled, shaking her head slightly. "What happened?"

"You fell asleep on the bus. I tried to wake you up, but you were out cold." he sighed. "I didn't think the side effects would be so strong. Are you all right?"

Jessie pressed a hand to her forehead and nodded slowly. As her world steadied, she did notice that the itching in her throat and eyes was gone. She also noticed the fist marks pulsing against the side of Tim's head. "I apologize . . . for hitting you. I didn't know where I was or . ."

"Don't worry about it. I should've been more careful. Can you walk?"

". . . Unngh . . I ."

Her grip on the light post slipped and her legs folded underneath her. Tim dove forward quickly and caught her, holding her steady. "Are you okay?" A pronounced groan poured from Jessie and her body trembled lightly. "Miss Niguel, can you hear me?"

"Eh . . . hey, watch the hands, Skipper . . ."

"Huh? Ah! I'm sorry!"

Tim quickly moved a hand to her waist, using his other to lift her arm over his shoulder. He forced his imminent blush down and slowly guided her to a bench. "This isn't normal. I'm going to have to take your blood pressure." He helped her sit down and began rummaging through his briefcase. Jessie leaned back and ran her fingers through her hair. "What the hell was that just now? I felt like I was waking up, and then I just . . ."

"The medicine is on time release. You probably got another shock of it running through your system just now, but the dosages will get progressively weaker."

"Time release? Through an injection? How is that possible?"

"Ask your brother. He's the one who made it."

Tim placed a sphygmomanometer and stethoscope on the bench beside her. Jessie pushed up her sleeve and smirked drowsily. "You always have your supplies on you?" He looked up at her as he placed the cuff around her arm. "You never know when you need it. Hold still, okay?" Tim proceeded to pump up the cuff and Jessie groaned slightly as it tightened uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, does that hurt?" She shook her head as her eyes closed tightly. A doleful pang bled within his chest as he monitored her pulse, moving to finish as quickly as possible. "Well, your blood pressure is good. When was the last time you ate?"

"Yesterday morning, around 5am I believe." Jessie breathed as the pressure on her arm was released.

Tim looked at her in surprise. "You haven't eaten in almost two days?!"

"Yeah, so?" She opened her eyes, meeting his disapproving gaze with a cool one. "I've been really busy and it's not like I'm emaciated. I'll live."

He sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Well, that explains why the side effects are so strong."

"As long as I don't die in my sleep, I'm content. Can you help me walk?"

Tim put his medical gear away and draped her arm around his shoulders. He cautiously placed his hand on her hip to steady her and when she did not protest, he relaxed. "If you insist," Tim was about to continue but was cut off when he felt her go limp in his hold. "H-hey! Don't faint on me again!" He quickly grabbed her torso and held her up with one arm, supporting her head with the other. Her head dipped forward and rested in the crook of his neck. The dormant blush came to the surface as he stood in the street, supporting the comatose girl against his body once again. "Ohh boy . . ." he grumbled as he gently shook her.

She stirred slightly, blinking her eyes open. Her head lifted weakly, their noses nearly brushing one another as she looked into his eyes. "You can . . . let me go now." she murmured drowsily. He swallowed his face's urge to turn crimson. He sheepishly peeled her away from his body and kept his hands on her shoulders to steady her. Her feet refused to support her weight and she crashed forward, throwing her arms around his neck to catch herself. "Okay, maybe I was wrong."

"Here, I'll carry you on my back." Tim knelt down and Jessie, too groggy to want to protest, tightened her grip on his neck and allowed him to hook his arms under her knees. He stood up once she was secure and walked on effortlessly. Jessie let out a chuckle in spite of herself. "This is kind of weird . . ."

"You think? I have to do this everyday. Patients are always passing out."

"You mean you carry people like this all the time?"

"Well, not the extra large patients. I get the gurney for them."

Jessie's chuckles slowly grew into strong laughter. "I . . . I'm sorry . . ."

"Eh? Don't be. I'm just doing my job."

"No . . it's not that . . . it's just that," she took a small breath, which was quickly propelled out by more laughter. "You're . . . you're like Yoshi . ."

"Yoshi? You mean the green dinosaur from the Mario games?"

"Yes! I'm sorry . . . I don't know why it's funny . . but . . ."

Tim gave a nervous chuckle at her laughing fit. _The medicine has _really_ gone to her head._

-----

By the time they had reached the hospital, Jessie had calmed down and was a bit more composed. She directed Tim to Victor's room, seemingly oblivious to the stares they were receiving, even as they walked into the elevator and she pressed the floor button. He growled slightly when the doors closed and prompted a query of whispers. Tim suspected that, for his own sake, it would be best if Jessie continued on under her own power. He had a feeling that Victor would be less than thrilled if he walked in his with disoriented sister riding piggy back. The elevator dinged and the doors hissed open. Tim was all too happy to exit and breathed a sigh as the doors closed behind them, cutting off the obnoxious murmurs from within. "Can you make it from here?"

"Yeah . . . I think so. I might need some help, though."

Tim knelt down and Jessie carefully slipped from his back, her arms still gripped around his neck. He helped steady her and her legs finally decided to co-operate. Her arm was still hooked around his neck for balance, but slowly and surely, she was walking again. "By the way, thanks . . . for helping me get here and treating my allergies." she muttered, tripping slightly. He caught her and helped her back up. "It was my pleasure." he grinned. She gave him a sideways glance. "Hm. A request."

"Request? Sure . . . what did you have in mind?"

"Everything that happened from the bus to here is between us. I would really rather not have anyone I know hear about it, though we'll have to come up with an explanation for that." She lazily pointed at his face.

Tim gently touched the forming bruises. "Leave that to me."

"There it is; second door on the left."

The door in question was wide open. Light from within spilled generously onto the floor, canvassing a flowing set of shadows. "But that's just the way it turned out." Tim perked up slightly at the strong, but notably feminine, voice that sounded from the room. "Hey, that's Dr. Myers!" he said in whispered excitement. "I didn't know she transferred to _this_ hospital." They stopped just outside the room and Jessie released him from her arm. She swayed slightly and pressed a hand to the wall. "Can you make it?" he whispered.

"Yeah, no problem." She slowly let her fingers up from the wall, swaying again but otherwise managing to stay upright. "Let's go."

Just as she attempted to walk unassisted, vertigo decided Jessie was not quite ready to actually put her feet into motion. It reared back, sucker punching her in the back of the head and sending her pitching forward. Her hand grasped out, squeezing firmly around Tim's wrist. He turned towards her and was ready to catch her once again, leaving him unprepared when she crashed directly into his chest.

Victor and Cybil looked up from their card game as the pair tumbled through the door and landed in a less than dignified heap on the ground. "What the hell was that?" he asked, looking towards the former police woman. She placed her deck faced down on the table and got to her feet just as their visitors began to pick themselves up. "Jessie! Nurse Ficsher! Took you two long enough."

"What the . . . ? Ficsher!?"

Tim felt his insides grow cold. If Victor's tone was any indication, he was just a wrong breath way from a bladeless castration. He picked himself up and helped Jessie to her feet, hoping he looked a lot calmer than he felt, though he had a feeling that was a hopeless wish. Victor's evil eye bore into his flesh and it only seemed to intensify as Jessie toppled into his arms. "Are you two all right?" Cybil asked as she moved in to help them. "What in the world happened?"

"More importantly, what are you doing to my sister?"

"Eh, well . . ." Tim's throat clenched up as scarlet bled through his face for what felt like the hundredth time that night. He rubbed the back of his neck, attempting to distract himself from the snarl Victor was forming. "You see . . . it's ah . ."

"It's my fault." Jessie murmured, gently pushing herself out of Tim's arms. "I tripped and pushed him. That's why we made such a _graceful_ entrance." She pushed down a groan and pressed a hand to her forehead. Victor's angry expression was quick to melt away. "Are you okay, Jessie?"

"Y-yes, I just . . . I think I hit my head when we fell . . ugh . . . I need to sit down."

She weakly made her way towards the chair near Victor's bed. Tim took a split second to debate whether he would want to hold her risk and having Victor remove his intestines, or if he should save his own skin and allow Jessie to trip again. Being a man of integrity, the answer was obvious. He just hoped that he would be able to shield his vital organs long enough for Cybil to come in and save him. As it turned out, she did save him, though a little preemptively on her part. She grabbed his sleeve just before he made his chivalrous (and possibly fatal) move. "You have fresh bruises on your face."

"Huh?" he stuttered slightly. "Oh, yeah, I had some trouble back at Caduceus before we left. Another delirious patient."

"Again?" she sighed. "You're going to need an ice pa – Jessie!"

Tim cursed himself for allowing Jessie to leave his grasp. Her arms dangled limply at her sides, indicating that she would not be able to catch herself from her face first freefall. He reared back, ready to launch his body into a sprint. Hopefully, he would be able to keep her from bloodying up her nose or mouth. His desperate run was aborted as a startled jump overtook him. Frighteningly swift movements left him paralyzed, but relieved as she fell into another person's arms.

Neither he nor Cybil had ever seen Victor move that quickly. The bed sheets, side table and everything else unfortunate enough to be caught in his path was left toppled, ruffled or in basic ruins. The small path of destruction cast an odd contrast to the scene, as Victor gently cradled his sister in his arms. "Jessie?" he whispered, his voice unusually strained. He shook her lightly but she did not as much as stir. "Victor, take it easy! You're still very ill!" Cybil commanded. She moved in quickly and knelt beside the siblings, taking out a penlight to check Jessie's eyes. It was then that she noticed a good amount of blood running down the back of Victor's hand. She sucked in a quick breath; Victor had literally ripped his IV out.

Tim had moved in as well, his footsteps starting out at a strong and professional pace, but quickly fading to timid pads. He had never seen the head of pathological research wear such an expression before. When Victor's teeth were clenched and his eyes were narrowed, it was usually a means to hold back an overwhelming flood of anger and frustration rather than harbor vivid worry. Yet, it was only when his grimaces were powered by the more familiar emotion did Tim slow to a pause. It was also when an anguished glare shot at him that he suddenly felt like a sheep caught in a slaughter house.

"What did you do to her?" Victor growled, putrid hate clawing from his throat. The blood trickling down his fingers did not exactly ease matters.

_Oh . . . super crud . . . _

Tim opened his mouth but found his voice impossible to find. It was strange. He had been in worse situations than this while working at Caduceus, even going so far as to inform families that a loved one did not survive treatment. Yet, it was hard to remain composed when it felt like he could be killed in the blink of an eye. "Victor!" Cybil cut in. "You know Tim would never do something like this!"

"She's going to be okay, Dr. Niguel!" Tim gasped. "Just let me . . ."

"Ficsher!" He hugged Jessie to him protectively, getting to his feet and inching away as Tim drew near. "Get back, Ficsher! I won't let you hurt her!"

"I didn't . . .!"

"Victor, calm down! You're still running a high temperature!"

He refused to heed them, continuing his slow retreat until his back pressed against the wall. "This isn't helping Jessie!" Cybil said, approaching him cautiously. Victor narrowed his eyes as his surroundings began to bleed. "N-no . . . keep him . . . uh . ." He felt himself sliding down the wall. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to block out the dizzying spin of the room.

"Victor! Dammit, stay with me!"

"Dr. Niguel!"

He tightened his hold on his sister, focusing on her warmth as everything else slipped away. "Don't . . . hurt . .her . ."

"_Victor!"_

-----

His burning forehead greedily drank up the chilled caress.

Victor heard a moan well before he realized it had come from his lips. He pursed them in a feeble attempt to stop the noises as he blinked his eyes open. Cybil stared down at him, pressing what felt like a wet wash cloth to his brow. "You know, I really oughta slap you senseless."

"Is that a promise . . .?" he murmured.

Her eye twitched. "It's becoming one."

He heard quiet footsteps from the corner of the room as someone turned in place. "Has Dr. Niguel regained consciousness?"

" . . . Ficsher . . .?" Victor scanned his small field of vision dizzyingly. "What is he . . ?" His slurred words were brought to an immediate hush as Cybil pressed down on his chest. "Victor, you _will_ remain calm. Do you hear me?" He blinked at her.

"What are you talking about?"

Tim slowly approached the bedside. "You don't remember?" he asked, allowing himself a small gulp.

"Remember wha-?" The sweltering mist was cast away before his eyes. Cybil caught the sudden flicker in them, quickly holding his shoulders down. "Jessie! Where is she?" He struggled to free himself from her grasp, his strength quickly burned away by his fevered body.

"She's fine, Victor." Cybil said. She had hoped he would relax after hearing that. On the contrary, his frustrations only seemed to be fueled further as he clenched his eyes shut. A strained growl pushed through his teeth. "Where is she, dammit?"

"She's right here, sleeping."

Victor opened his eyes when he felt Cybil slip an arm behind his back and help him into a sitting position. Tim moved, giving him an uneasy smile as he directed Victor's gaze to a cot by the window. True to the doctor's word, Jessie was sleeping peacefully.

"She had shown up at Caduceus with severe allergic symptoms." Tim explained. "I treated her with our standard antihistamine and she reacted well, a little too well."

Victor glared at him. "What do you mean?"

"She said she hadn't eaten in almost 48 hours. Her low blood sugar level caused her to experience severe drowsiness."

"What?" He looked over at his sister. "Dammit, Jessie . . ."

"Her eating habits remind me of a certain someone." Cybil said, smirking. Victor swallowed at that and looked away. She had been the one to treat him back at Caduceus, when he had passed out after fasting for three days.

"We checked her blood pressure and vitals; they're all normal. Her heart and lungs sound good too." Tim announced.

"You really should thank Nurse Ficsher, Victor. He took good care of her all the way from Caduceus to here. Not only that, but he helped me treat you as well."

Victor clenched the sheets in his hands, lowering his eyes to stare at them and the blood stains on his IV bandage. "Yeah . . . I know . . ."

"He could have left hours ago, but he wanted to stay and help me take care of the both of you . . ."

"All right! I get it! I was a jerk!" He gritted his teeth and hissed. "Geez . . . you don't have to twist the knife that much . . ."

"You weren't a jerk, Dr. Niguel." Tim said. "You were just scared for your sister. I understand."

"Eh . . ." Victor eased himself against the pillows. He was getting dizzy again. "Hey . . . Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks . . . for everything . . . I know you would've never hurt her. I don't know what came over me."

"Don't worry about it. I already told you, I understand." Tim grinned. "I've got a little sister too. I think I would've acted the same way if I was in your position."

"Well, since you boys have made up, I'm going to call it a night." Cybil ran her hand through her hair, yawning slightly. "Get some sleep, Victor. We don't need you getting any sicker than you already are. You get some rest too, Tim."

Cybil left and Tim pulled up a chair in the far corner of the room. "If you don't mind, I'm going to stay a little longer, just to keep an eye on . . . uh . ."

"Yeah, you do that." Victor murmured. Fatigue had assaulted him and he found himself slave to his bed sheets. "But don't think I've let my guard down, Ficsher. She's still my sister and if I catch you so much as _thinking_ about her the wrong way . . ."

"Horrible pain and suffering await me. I get it." Tim leaned back in the seat, collapsing into the chair's arms. He yawned and closed his eyes, ready to succumb to slumber himself . . . "Hey, wait a second!"

He shot up, his hands biting fiercely into the arm rests. "Y-you don't think . . . we were . . . I mean, Jessie and I . . . nothing happened . . . we aren't . . . I'm not . . that is . . . I don't think she . . ."

"Shut up, Tim."

"Oh," He felt the tension fluttered from him as Victor pulled his sheets over his head. Tim watched the doctor settle himself into a comfortable position under the blanket and he soon followed suit, melting into his chair. "Goodnight to you too, Dr. Niguel."

-----

Jessie woke slowly, curling up under her covers and burying her face into her pillow. She was usually not one for lazy behavior, but that morning she found the urge to stay in bed irresistible. She listened to the birds outside through closed eyes, taking in an easy breath. Her hay fever was completely gone, a thought that she indulged until a new one took its place.

She had no freaking clue where she was.

Her eyes opened with a startled gasp and she sat up quickly. Throwing off her blanket, she was relieved to see that she was still fully clothed, right down to her shoes. She took in a sigh and began scanning her surroundings. Her heart skipped slightly as her eyes came to rest upon Tim's sleeping form. He was slumped over in a chair next to the opposite wall, snoring lightly.

_So I wasn't dreaming . . ._

Her fingers squeezed the blanket in her hand. She looked down at the soft material then back up at the slumbering nurse. A smirk flashed across her face just long enough for her to make a small scoff. She eased herself off the cot and approached him, quietly draping the blanket over his shoulders. "Peh . . . men." she whispered. She pulled the blanket over to the front of his body, making sure he was snuggly wrapped in it, when a puff of his warm breath tickled her hand. A hint of a blush swept her cheeks before she quietly cleared her throat. With Tim properly protected from the cold, she turned towards a second snoring sound.

Victor was fast asleep. Jessie frowned slightly when she noticed a trace of blood on the bandage around his IV, but that quickly faded when she saw the case file sitting on the table beside him. The very thing she had gone through so much trouble to bring him rested undisturbed and unopened. He had kept his promise. She gently brushed his bangs back and kissed him on the temple. "Thank you . . ." she whispered, pleased when he continued sleeping restfully. She pulled back and a wall clock ticked in the corner of her vision. She looked at it, curious as to the time.

It was seven fifteen.

The blood drained from her face.

_Crap! I'm going to be late for work!_

She located her briefcase quickly and checked her pockets, making sure she still had her keys and bus pass on her. She slipped her bag strap over her shoulder and quietly left the room, breaking into a sprint once she reached the hallway. Running was a bit of a hobby for Jessie. It started as something she did out of pure boredom and quickly became a regular routine of hers. Aside from being a great way to stay in shape and release stress, she found it helpful in times she needed to seriously . . . well. . . haul ass. She took to the stairwell and flew down the steps, her versatile frame and quick reflexes allowing her to avert various people and obstacles in the lobby.

She took in a breath of the crisp morning air when she reached the parking lot, using her now cleared lungs to further power her run. The bus taunted her at the end of the lot and hissed in threatening departure. She narrowed her eyes and called her speed forth, launching herself into a mild leap through the closing bus doors. "Gah!" The driver nearly leapt out of his skin as Jessie came crashing through, panting slightly. With a shaking hand, she swiped her bus pass and made her way towards the back of the vehicle, ignoring the stares of the other passengers and plopping down. Being the normal morning commute that it was, her seat was sure to be taken up by her favorite patrons very quickly. She allowed herself this chance to stretch out.

Something rattled quietly in her bag as she stretched her arms over her head. She blinked, casting it a perplexed look. She recalled hearing the noise during her desperate sprint from the hospital but had been too preoccupied to care what was causing it. She rummaged through one of the front pockets on her bag, finding a small box. A rubber band hugged a folded piece of paper to it. She slid it off, not knowing whether to laugh or snort at what she saw. "Non-drowsy Benadryl . . . someone's being a smartass." she mumbled. She placed the box in her pocket and unfolded the paper, reading the note within.

_Miss Niguel,_

_Take one of these if the symptoms start to return. Considering your previous dosage, this should be more than enough to keep you from having another reaction. Also, do yourself a favor and eat something. I mean it. You don't want to end up in the hospital for malnourishment, do you?_

_I'm really glad we had the chance to meet and well, if it's not too much, perhaps we can meet again before you go back to Seattle? Just for a drink, or dinner or something . . . my treat._

_ Timothy "Yoshi" Ficsher_

_P.S. Thanks for the new nickname. I'm sure my co-workers will get a good laugh out of it, but I promise not to tell them where it came from._

Jessie shook her head, smiling, as she placed the note in her pocket. "Oh, Timothy, I sincerely hope you're not hitting on me." She propped her head on her hand and starred out the window, watching the buildings as they flew by. Her hand tingled slightly from where Tim's rogue breath had touched it. Another blush burned against her palm. "Aw, what the hell? Who am I to turn down a free drink?"

-----

A/N: Let me just take a moment to say that the Cybil chapter was Commander Maryjo's idea and everyone else seemed to back it up. Everyone, give Maryjo a collective thanks for that chapter. Now that credit has been given where credit is due -

Odd help me, I've just created a chapter starring my two original characters. This is pretty unusual, for me anyway. Points for anyone who can guess what book Victor was reading. In regards to the Garfield poster, when I end up going to the doctor, they've got little cartoons like that on the ceiling just above the exam tables. A nice little distraction if you have to undergo a rather, uh, demanding examination.

Sorry if I make Victor a little too overprotective of Jessie, but the thought of him ripping off someone's head for simply looking at her the wrong way amuses me to no end.

Okay, I'm going to take a bit of a break from _Illness _because I really want to start updating _Paying the Price_. I didn't think I was going to make the deadline for the fanfiction contest, but I did so yeah for that.

Please tell me what you thought of my obnoxious original characters. I'm eager to see how they are received and maybe they'll show up in a few more fictions if they get positive feedback.

And now, for my ultra super paranoid disclaimer of DOOM!

**Disclaimer: Victor Niguel, Cybil Myers, Stephen Clarks and Leslie Sears are characters owned by Atlus. Jessie Darlene Niguel, Timothy Ficsher and Marianne Rangel are characters I created based off of Trauma Center. Yoshi and Mario belong to Nintendo. Garfield is owned by Jim Davis.**


	9. Derek: Second Opinion

A/N: Holy dookie! I've updated Illness! That can only mean . . . Christmas present! A present for MoonCat and TCGeek! I'm sure the rest of you will enjoy it too! Handle with care now . . .

Trauma Center: Illness

Derek: Second Opinion

Breathe in . . . . breathe deep . . .

Derek winced slightly at the blinding light that poured upon him.

Breathe deep . . .

It was all he could do to suppress his nerves, though the electrocardiograph seemed to take pleasure in blaring out his elevated pulse.

There was no reason to be scared. Angie was the best nurse and assistant the medical world had to offer. He had seen this for himself. And Dr. Kimishima – she had the Healing Touch. Medicine's best women would be taking care of him. There was no reason to be afraid.

Breathe in . . .

But he was.

_I know I can trust them with my life . . ._

Breathe deep . . .

_. . but it's hard . . . to feel so helpless . . _

Breathe in . . .

_Is this how my patients feel?_

The doors squeaked as they were pushed open and the clicks of two pairs of shoes engulfed the room. He saw the fuzzed outline of Angie and Naomi appear over him. It was hard to make out their expressions without his glasses, but Derek thought he saw a hint of anxiety behind Angie's firm set eyes. "Are you . . ready, Dr. Stiles?" she said softly, her voice confirming his suspicions. He looked at her, giving her a warm smile. "I'm ready, Angie. Everything's going to be okay." he whispered. "I believe in you, both."

"We're going to start anesthesia now, Stiles." Naomi said, placing a translucent mask over his mouth. "Just breathe deep, okay?"

"Heh . . ."

If only she knew.

"Derek?" Angie said. "I . . . We're going to take care of you. Just leave it to us and . . . don't worry. . ." The strong foundation of her voice returned, stilling the slight quiver it had before. Derek's drowsy smile deepened. This was the nurse he knew.

"I know, Angie. . ."

Her name poured from his lips as the blurry colors before him melted together, slowly fizzling into a thick blanket of black.

-----

Derek rushed for the operating room. The air pulsed around him in time with his footsteps, their loud thumping against the tiled floor the only noise. The hall was eerily quiet and deserted in spite of the tension hanging over him. He crashed through the OR doors, earning not as much as a creek from them. Even the monitors that flashed the patient's grave vitals made not a sound.

He pushed through the thick silence, pulling on his gloves as he looked at the patient's readings. "Cardiac arrest . ." he muttered as he crossed over to the table. "Gotta work fast." He reached to pull back the sheet covering the patient's chest, his narrowed eyes loosening as saw who he was operating on.

His mouth dropped open ever so slightly in contrast to his eyes, his thoughts becoming as mute as his surrounds as he stared at himself, lying motionless on the operating table. Struck numb from the shock, Derek was unsure of how much time had passed when he noticed that his instincts had kicked in and his body was moving into chest compressions. Even having noticed that, he was unable to keep from studying his own sleeping face, pale and lacking glasses.

"A . . Angie." he said breathlessly, still keeping his eyes on the . . . patient. "Angie, I need to you start the defibrillator."

He was answered only by his unsteady inhales. He flickered his gaze away from himself, staring blankly at the empty space across the operating table, where his assistant had always been in the past. "Angie?" He continued the compressions as he frantically looked about, finding not another soul in the OR. "No . . . where is she?" The flat line on the electrocardiograph drew his vision. Gritting his teeth, he quickly located the defibrillator.

Rushing for it, he switched it on and dragged it to his side at the table, working up a charge as fast as he could. He shocked his sleeping form, watching his body twitch but receiving no response from the heart monitor. Throwing the paddles on the machine's tray, he reverted back to chest compressions, desperately trying to cut the time between that and delivering the shock.

Again, there were no changes in the patient's condition as the second jolt was given. "Angie, where are you?" he gasped, pressing into his ribcage again. It was no good. He could not seem to move fast enough. He clenched his eyes shut and tried to call forth his Healing Touch. The star shape taunted him, slipping out of his grasp with each mental stroke he made. He grunted at the betrayal of his own powers, his breath quickening as he felt himself slip away. "I'm running out of time." he hissed and powered up the defibrillator.

He moved in to give himself another shock. His body jumped, but the heart monitor did not. Sweat seeped through his skin and slowly cascaded down his temple.

"Angie . . . I need you . . . I . ." He closed his eyes as dizziness swept over him, trickling down his head like the sweat on his brow. "I can't do this alone . . ."

The paddles slipped from his fingers, leaving only dull murmurs of sound as they crashed to the floor. Even through closed eyes he could feel darkness begin to eat away at the edges of his mind. Time slowed as he began his plummet, gravity sluggishly pulling his body through the air.

Derek felt a set of arms snuggly wrap around his waist. His cheek pressed against a soft crown of hair as his dead weight leaned into someone. A familiar scent filled him, casting away the impending haze.

"You're not alone, Derek. Not as long as I can fight by your side."

"Angie. . . ."

He opened his eyes as she pushed him back up, keeping him steady as he regained his balance. He found his footing and looked over at the warmth that clung to him. Angie looked up at him, her arms still around his waist and her cheek against his shoulder. Her clear eyes pierced into his, a backdrop of focus holding in the compassion and faith swimming within them. "Dr. Stiles, we can save the patient."

Her voice stroked a tender balm over his nerves. He took a deep breath, feeling his inner tremors begin to settle. "Of course we can." he murmured back to her, smiling.

She stepped away from him, her warmth continuing to envelop where she had embraced him. "Angie, I'll continue chest compressions to stimulate a rhythm and you stand by with the defibrillator."

"Understood."

Derek pressed into his sternum, slightly nerved when he noticed that his complexion had turned as white as the sheet that covered him. He shook it off and focused on the procedure, pulling back when he heard Angie finish charging the paddles. She shocked him, his body giving another jerk, but the heart monitor stubbornly refused to trace away from its line. As they repeated the procedure, the electrocardiograph proved to be ever resilient, determined to continue its flawlessly straight drawing despite their efforts.

With Angie at his side, Derek courageously accepted the machine's challenge, refusing to back down as he continued pushing in the ribcage. However, his efforts seemed to be draining him, his own heartbeat growing weaker with each chest press he gave. He stopped, glancing down at his own chest as he felt the pulsing within it become feeble. He looked back at his unconscious double then back at Angie, who met him with a curious expression. "Angie, give me your hand."

She blinked. "Doctor?"

"Put the paddles away and give me your hand."

She did so in spite of the confusion on her face and Derek felt her soft hand warmly conform to his own. He pulled their hands into the patient's chest and slowly pressed their finger tips to it. The skin gave way, melting coolly under his touch, as did the muscle and cartilage beneath it. The now liquid flesh and bone had a silky but firm grip on their fingers. Through the muscle that parted for him, Derek felt the heart, cold and motionless, and he pressed her fingers to it. "Move with me, Angie."

He gently squeezed the heart as Angie's hand moved in time with his. Over and over they continued the compressions, feeling the tissue slowly warm in their grasp. Derek felt his own heart begin to flutter, growing stronger until the pulse of the organ pressed against their grip.

A single chime filled the air.

The electrocardiograph timidly chirped and broke the silence. It sang out an even, steady melody as the patient's heart began beating. The two removed their hands from the chest and the flesh quickly pooled to fill the crevices their fingers had left. Not a single scar was left when it had settled, and their hands were still clasped together.

Derek's own heart was hammering as he looked back at Angie. She sighed in relief as she returned his glance. "Derek . . ."

He squeezed her hand a little more tightly as he turned towards her. "As long as we're together, everything will be okay. You've taught me that." he whispered. She smiled as she felt him wrap an arm around her waist and pull her closer. He could vaguely feel her heart pound against his chest, the two organs beating as one. "Derek . . . I . ."

"Shhhh." he whispered again. The heart monitor continued beeping in the background as the air tensed around them. Derek's breath became shallow as he slowly moved in. Angie parted her lips slightly, her eyes closing as he tenderly kissed her. The two suckled on one another's sweet breath, the serene but passionate meeting of their lips intoxicating them both. They pulled away slowly and sighed, their content breaths giving way to chuckles as they noticed the blush on both of their faces.

"Angie . . . ugh . . ."

Derek stammered as his legs gave out again. Angie's arms were quickly back around him, carefully lowering him to the floor. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah, I've just been . . . so tired lately . ."

Cradled his shoulders, she moved to sit behind him, resting his head in her lap. She looked down at him and gently placed her hands on his temples, running her thumbs through his hair. "It's all right. You've done so much . . ." she leaned in and gave him a kiss on the forehead. "Rest," her gentle words tickled his brow. "Just rest, and I'll take care of you."

Derek complied and smiled, closing his eyes as she continued to play with his hair, the feel of her soft fingers lulling him into a slumber.

-----

It was that same soothing tickle on his scalp which pulled him from his deep sleep. Derek leaned into the hand that rested on his temple, a heavy groan escaping him as his eyes opened. The gentle stroking stopped as a blurred figure leaned into his vision. Given his naturally bad eye sight, the medicine induced distorted shapes and colors around him did not make much difference. While it was not exactly helping him either, as the swirling figments tugging at the edges of his brain did nothing for his disorientation, he was able to feel through the abstract before him, knowing well who was at his side the moment he saw her.

"Dr. Stiles? Are you awake?"

"I'm awake, Angie." Derek murmured, his voice dripping heavily.

"Good, about time too." she breathed, a short but relieved chuckle following.

"Mmm, I wasn't asleep for that long, was I?"

"No, just a few hours, but you slept a little longer than we expected. How are you feeling?"

"I . . .. ugh . . ."

The room finally decided to stop spinning as he spoke, though the abrupt stop gave him a jolt of nausea. Derek grimaced as his stomach flipped and Angie was quick to alert. "What's wrong?! Are you all right?"

Derek bit his lip and waited for the nausea to pass, hoping that his stomach would calm down before he purged. Thankfully, it did just that, though the passing of the queasiness left him to realize just how much his chest hurt. He hissed as his hand came to rest over the bandage. Angie gasped slightly, her hand landing upon his, her voice silencing itself before she could ask if he was okay.

Their eyes locked. They stared at one another, lips barely parted as thin breath passed through them. "Angie . . ?"

She seemed startled when he called her name, but Angie remained gazing at him as she answered. "Derek?"

Derek pursed his lips, longing to press them against hers, to taste her sweet breath and hold her, just as he had in his dream. The electrocardiograph connected to him jumped, prompted him to blush as it blared out his skipping heart beat for all the world to hear. Angie broke of their stare as she looked at the monitor, furthering his embarrassment as he looked away. "I'm all right." he said. "I'm just a little overwhelmed by everything is . . ."

He stopped as he felt her fingers on his neck. "I . . . I understand." she said as she checked his pulse. "Things have been overwhelming for the both of us lately . . . I just want to . . ." Derek turned back to face her. " . . make sure . . ."

She was close. Very close. Their noses nearly touched as they returned to their staring match, the blush on Angie's face evident even with Derek's poor sight.

_Kiss her!_

Derek's mouth twitched in response to his mind's shout, but he found himself unable to close in. He could only keep taking in the gorgeous sight of her eyes and feel warm puffs of her breath on his face. "A . . . Angie?"

"Yes?"

"I'm glad that . . ." he swallowed. ". . .you were here to assist . . . with my operation. "

"I . . . I'm so glad that you're okay . . ." Her lips parted, ever so slightly, still pouring shallow streams from her mint lip gloss onto his own.

_What. Are. You. Waiting. For? Kiss her already!_

_Shut up, voice in my head! You're making me nervous!_

_Geez! What are you, twelve? You're an adult! Kiss her!_

_All right! I'll do it! Just . . . get off my back!_

He clenched his muscles, still reluctant even after his mental berating. He took a breath, forcing his way through his nerves as he began to push himself up . . .

The door opened.

Angie quickly got to her feet, diverting her glance to a wall as Derek settled back down, turning his head completely. Both had a suspicion that the blushes on their cheeks had radiated to epic levels, which was confirmed by Naomi's low chuckle. "I see that Stiles is awake. I hope I'm not interrupting anything." she smirked as she looked between the two of them. "Well, Director Miller wanted me to inform him when you regained consciousness, so I'll be leaving you to rest." She turned her silver eyes on the nurse. "Though I hate to interfere with your bedside vigil, Dr. Owens wanted you to check up on a few post-op patients."

"O-oh . . . yes, of course." Angie stammered before clearing her throat. "If you'll excuse me, Dr. Stiles."

"Huh?" He sheepishly looked back at her. "Oh. . . yeah . . ."

Naomi's chuckle returned, doing everything but helping them bleed the crimson from their faces. "Well, I have duties to attend to, as do you, Nurse Thompson. Get some rest, Dr. Stiles." She closed the door without another word, leaving the two to squirm under the thick static that formed. The stark red on their faces had faded to a more modest hue of pink, though each sound made seemed deafening against the dense quiet.

"Well, I'd better go see to those patients." Angie said, clearing her throat again.

"Yeah . . ."

"Do you . . . . do you need anything before I leave?"

"No, I'm fine . . . thanks."

"All right." She gathered up her clip board. "I'll check up on you when I'm finished."

"Right . . ."

They shared another glance, short lived as Angie excused herself. As the door clicked shut, Derek allowed his head to fall completely onto the pillow as he let out an aggravated groan.

_Way to go, Stiles. Very suave . . . no stoppin' ya now._

He sighed as sarcastic claps echoed in his mind. His grumble soon gave way to a yawn as fatigue overcame him, pulling fiercely on his eye lids. He fought it a little, recalling that Director Miller would probably want a word with him upon hearing he had awoken from surgery, but he soon realized he was too disappointed to care. Besides, he could always wake up again later.

"Maybe next time. . ." he mumbled as he closed his eyes.

_Assuming there is a next time, and you don't screw it up again . . ._

"Shut up, voice." he slurred before passing from consciousness. At least, in his dreams, he could retreat to a plane where he could kiss his nurse boldly, press her warmth into him without anything getting in his way. So, he did just that, hoping for the day in which he could experience it in the waking world.

Someday . . . it was going to be amazing.

-----

A/N: Greetings from Mexico! Still on the lamb from the Stiles Protection Agency, but mostly from the winter chill. I'm sorry I'm such a desert rat, but 40 degrees is too cold for me! (gets laughed at from all the readers that can withstand mentioned temperatures without shaking like a Chihuahua)

Another request for the ever wonderful MoonCat, who wanted to read a story about operation 6-4 from Derek's POV. I also dedicate this to the everlasting awesomeness that is TCGeek, who needs some DxA fluff. She's right you know – there can _never _be enough Derek/Angie fluff!

Maybe this'll be enough for the SPA to drop charges against me, and I can return to the states.

I mentioned this on DeviantArt, but I made something of a revelation in New Blood. Dr. Kanao Tsuji looks almost exactly like me! It's kinda creepy but cool at the same time. She even has the same type of glasses I wear. Apparently, TCGeek looks like her too, but with lighter hair.

ROFL we are in the game. Hehehe . . .


	10. Stephen: Migraine

A/N: OMG, I can't believe how long this took me to write. Mostly because I just didn't know where to go with it for the longest time and when I finally did, I had to deal with work, school and other crud. I'm actually editing this at work right now, while waiting for this unreliable yet annoyingly essential program we have to load. This place is so stupid . . .

I'm glad we have a new Trauma Center game coming out though. I seriously think I'd lose my sanity if it weren't for this game. Okay, enough whining . . . here we go!

Trauma Center: Illness

Stephen: Migraine

A clear strip of morning light greeted his eyes upon opening. He gave a few groggy blinks to the ceiling, taking in the sun washed tiles as a soft groan moved his lips.

"Finally awake, Dr. Clarks?"

Stephen lifted his head off the pillow at the voice, wincing slightly as the rising sun blinded him. With gritted teeth he pushed himself into a sitting position and out of the sun's direct beam. Upon feeling the warmth from the concentrated light drip from his face, he opened his eyes, their sluggish blinks taking on a confused nature at the two standing at his bedside. "Leslie? Tim?"

Each wore a wavering grin upon being addressed, feeble chuckles pushing through their teeth as they shared a quick glance. The young woman coughed lightly into her hand before turning back to the surgeon. "Dr. Clarks, before you say anything else, I'd just like to remind you that this was all his fault." Leslie said, raising an index finger towards her colleague for emphasis.

"Hey!" Tim said, glaring at the accusing appendage but earning only a nonchalant shrug from the female nurse.

"What? It _was_."

"Well, it wasn't . . . _completely_ my fault." Tim stuttered slightly, rubbing the back of his neck as a faint blush came to his cheeks. "Are you feeling better, sir?"

Stephen briefly looked between them. His perplexed look grew with an arched brow. "Better?"

The two nurses dropped their smiles. Their widened eyes shared another glance, this time of concern, before turning back to the surgeon. "You don't remember feeling under the weather last night?"

"I . . . no." Stephen said. "Come to think of it, I don't even remember you coming in last night, Tim."

Leslie squeezed her surprised eyes into a glare, which she cast at the young blond haired man. "Geez Tim! You really knocked him out!"

Tim lurched back slightly, his mouth attempting to form words in his defense, as his hands rose to take over for his verbal paralysis. Stephen looked between them in the midst of their silent confrontation.

"What are you two talking about? What time is it? And . . . . why does my coat have a faint smell of rosemary?"

"_That's_ her fault." Tim said, crooking a thumb towards Leslie. She scoffed at him. Placing her hands on her hips, she shook her head.

"I think we'd better explain."

--

Sound was constant in the halls of Caduceus, even at night. The dark sky did put a bit of a muffling blanket over the hospital but the corridors brimmed with noise all the same. A steady stream of beeps and murmurs filled the air, and mingled within it was a soft groan, drown out by a more audible pair of footsteps.

Another light moan came from Dr. Stephen Clarks. The surgeon's groomed beard did nothing to hide the uneasy grimace on his face. A whispered hiss again passed through his teeth as he grit them and massaged his temple. Slowly, he closed his eyes and ran his fingers down the side of his face. Working double shifts was exhausting and he was far from done. It was going to be a long night.

"Dr. Clarks! Are you all right?"

He winced at the sudden voice. The stabbing on his scalp flared as his eyes peeled open, revealing a very concerned nurse. Leslie stood before him, a folder leisurely pressed to her chest as she gave him a quick look over. "You're in pain. I should have a look at you."

"No, that's not necessary, Leslie. But thank you." Stephen said, swallowing the swelling grunt in his throat. "I just need to lie down for a moment."

"At least let me help you to the on-call room, Doctor." She insisted. "You look like you're about to collapse."

"That's really not . . ." his voice died down as her arm linked snuggly around his and gave a slight tug on his weight. He succumbed to the small yank, his feet carrying him for a few bewildered steps before he regained composure. "I'll be all right. I've got a migraine." A bit groan followed that statement as a wave of agony washed over him. "It's excruciating, but nothing to get worked up over."

Leslie looked over to him with a tiny smile on her face. "I'm not getting worked up." She said, the grip on his arm tightening for a moment as if she suspected he would try and break her hold. He doubted he would have been able to in his current condition anyway. Regardless, he decided to humor her, confessing to himself that he was making faster progress with the assist. Briefly the hall returned to the backdrop of murmured equipment, sans the now suppressed groans from the surgeon. That is until an abrupt crackle from Leslie's headset drew a startled wince from them both.

"_Leslie, where are you?"_

She gave an annoyed roll of her eyes. "Kinda busy right now, Tim."

"_Are you too busy to get Mrs. Hines' file down here?"_

She cast a glance to the folder she had been holding at her chest, now firmly pressed against her hip. "Do you really need it _now_?"

"_We need it five minutes ago! We have to have the test results ready for her surgery at 6."_

"All right, I'm coming." Leslie switched off the head set's two way and gave the surgeon a sheepish look. "Will you be all right from here?"

"Of course."

Her arm reluctantly left his and for a brief moment he teetered, quickly hiding his lack in balance behind a rigid stance. The nurse pursed her lips before giving him a furrowed gaze. "Let me know if you need anything, Dr. Clarks." She said, to which he gave a weak smile.

"I'll be sure to."

"Have a nice nap."

"Thank you, Leslie."

Her hurried footsteps quickly carried her to the nurse's station, the resulting echo jabbing into the surgeon's ears but he paid it as little mind as he could. The on-call room was well within walking distance from here and his aching cranium was nothing a quick bout of sleep would not fix.

--

An uneasy look gripped her face as she rushed down the hall. Her head was downcast, watching the floor tiles rush below her in the midst of her power walk. Regardless, her speed was not enough to outrun the sorrowful thoughts of the surgeon she had encountered. She had always liked working with Dr. Clarks. His kind demeanor had helped immensely when she had first started working at Caduceus. The anxiety of being selected to work on the front line of medicine had been almost too much to bear and, had it not been for his support, she was certain it would have costed her prestigious position. It seemed as though he was always there for someone, regardless of who they were or what they needed. Seldom was it that anyone returned the favor, but that did not impede on his selfless nature one bit.

She bit her lip bitterly at the thought. Her eyes flickered to the patient file she had been carrying and widened at what they saw. The name of the very man she had been thinking of was labeled on that file, scheduled to operate at six that morning come sickness or health. He had to have known it was his patient's file she was carrying, yet he muttered not a word of complaint. '_Poor Dr. Clarks . . .'_

Her arm thrust out at the station's door, her inner frustration echoing the small bang of the hinges. She lifted her head as she entered and found her body jumping as a pair of glaring blue eyes met her own. The normally mild mannered Tim Ficsher stood before her, hands on his hips and lips titled into an annoyed frown.

"Where have you been?" he sighed. "I've got a lot of paper work to wade through, you know. So I'll thank you not to hold things up."

Her own eyes slimmed as she scoffed. "Well, excuse me Tim, but I have a job too." She roughly flicked her wrist as she tossed the file to him. Tim caught it unflinching, giving a curt breath as he did so. "I know we're all stressed out, but you need to keep your head on straight."

"Well," she crossed her arm. "let's see how good you keep your head straight when you find out the surgeon performing Mrs. Hines' operation is sick."

"What?" Tim opened the file, his brows lifting in surprise. "Dr. Clarks is sick?"

"I saw him not too long ago in the hallway and he didn't look too good. He has a migraine."

"Geez, he's pulling a double shift tonight, isn't he?" He ran a hand through his hair as he plopped into a nearby seat, his eyes never leaving the file before him.. "I don't think I've seen him take a break since I got here."

"Poor Dr. Clarks . . . he works so hard and gets barely half the recognition he deserves." Leslie's arms slipped from their folded position and dangled at her sides. "We should keep an eye on him."

"I don't know. I think he wants to be left alone . . ."

"We won't be bothering him. We'll just make sure he's okay. That's all."

"Well . . . let's at least let him get some sleep first."

"Oh, of course. Although . . ." Leslie's lips pursed in thought. " . . .what time is it?"

"Uh . . . quarter to midnight. Why?"

She gave a weak smile in spite of the brows that knitted her forehead. "Hm, I don't think Dr. Clarks is going to be getting much sleep at the moment."

--

Stephen hoped no one had seen him fumble for the door knob. Drowsiness and pain clouded his head and left him teetering ever so slightly. He gripped the handle and pushed the door open, his straining breaths flowing in a relaxed sigh. Clearly, he was not anticipating the horrific noise from within.

A monstrous rumble throbbed the jabs in his brow in time with his pounding heart. Stephen rigidly shot up as he scanned the darkness for the sound. The vibrating air abated as the growl died down, only to be stirred up by a second loud roar.

His tense face softened with a sigh as his eyes settled on Tyler's sleeping form. He continued on with his ground shaking snores, completely oblivious to the elder surgeon. Stephen only shook his head as he stumbled to the cot farthest from Tyler. He grimaced and pressed his hand to his forehead as he settled onto it, but a grateful sigh escaped him as he all but collapsed onto the mattress.

Exhaustion and fatigue from the headache churned his brain dizzyingly and sleep was already bleeding into its crevices. The surgeon embraced the oncoming state of unconsciousness, in epic need of the rest.

Unfortunately, Tyler's snores had other plans.

Each time Stephen felt himself about to slip into unawareness, the sawing of wood pulled him back. Stirring and grumbling unhappily, he tossed restlessly on the cot, pulling the pillow over his head to muffle it at one point, but blissful slumber still eluded him, only going as far as to stroke his aching head cruelly.

He sat up with an agitated grunt, briefly casting the sleeping surgeon an annoyed glare. He let it drop immediately, recalling that his wife had told him of his own snoring problems at one time.

Karma had a rather sadistic sense of humor.

Stephen begrudgingly peeled himself from the cot, knowing there would be no sleep for him there. He squinted as he pushed the door to the on-call room open and though he anticipated the bright hall way, another audible wince escaped him as the light pierced right through him. Scrunching his eyes shut completely, he closed the door behind him and gently pried his right eye open again. Blinking the sliver of it he managed, he did the same with his left, growing bolder as the light became more tolerable . . .

. . . and the blurred image of two nurses appeared before him.

"Gah!" The startled jump twisted his migraine painfully and two sets of arms reached out to steady him.

"Are you going to be all right?" Leslie asked as the surgeon regained his footing. He merely nodded as he touched his temple, leaving her to glance at her other colleague.

"I think this is where we step in, Dr. Clarks. The nap obviously didn't help you." Tim said.

"That's because the nap didn't happen." He muttered.

"Aw yes. Tyler's on his break, isn't he?" Leslie gave a knowing smile at the blond surgeon's rackety sleeping habits, though her crinkled brow spared a thought for the man suffering because of it.

"Let's get you to your office. We'll make sure no one disturbs you and you can get some sleep." The male nurse said, receiving a slow head shake from the surgeon.

"I have paperwork due at one."

"Paperwork? Is that all?" Tim scoffed with a grin. "I can help you with that. You'll be done in half the time."

"Yeah, leave the nerdy work to him." Leslie said. "I've got something better."

"Better?" Stephen asked. His response came in the form of both of them latching onto his arms and leading him to his office. The floor produced a mild squeak as his feet dragged, but they soon relented to the pull and carried the man to his office unresisting.

--

"There." Stephen murmured quietly as he finished off his signature, setting the pen down in favor of nursing his aching temple once again. Tim looked up from where he diligently worked on his half. "Is that everything that needs your signature?" he whispered, earning a nod from the surgeon. The nurse smiled, returning to his own forms with a rapid scratch of his pen. "Get some rest, Dr. Clarks. I'll take care of the rest."

"Thank you, Tim." Stephen smiled and slowly got up from his desk. Rubbing his face as he drowsily wandered to the office couch, he could only stare in bleary eyed confusion as Leslie entered, cradling purple candles in her arms. "I found them."

Tim paused in his writing as a perturbed expression overcame him. "Oh geez! Here we go again . . ." He sighed, earning an annoyed glare.

"I'll have you know, _Yoshi_, that aroma therapy is a tried and true remedy for minor ailments."

"Tried by who?"

"Me. Trust me, this'll work." She turned back to the surgeon and gestured to the candles in her arms. "They're rosemary; just the thing for a migraine."

Tim gave an annoyed roll of his eyes. "Don't listen to her. Dr. Clarks. Last time she tried this the smell lingered in the nurses' station for weeks. I still haven't gotten the scent out of my other uniform."

"Do you have something against smelling nice?"

"No, but I do have something against smelling like little . . . fruity . . . things!"

"I come to work to get _away _from the screaming children!"

Both nurses abandoned their banter to stare in shock at Stephen, or more specifically, the doubled over grimace he fell into after his shout. The paralysis his rare outburst caused was short lived as they quickly rushed to his side. "Dr. Clarks!"

Intelligible grunts spilled from his lips as he clutched his head, sprawling his normally neat hair in all directions. "I'll get you some acetaminophen!" Tim exclaimed before rushing from the room. Leslie took his shoulders, supporting him lightly and rubbing his back. "Here, let me light the rosemary. It'll help . . ."

"Guh . . ." he breathed and rubbed his scalp.

Tim rushed back with a water bottle and two pills tightly clenched in his hand. "Here." He said, dropping the pills in the surgeon's shaking palm. "I think you may want to give doing double shifts a rest for a while, Dr. Cla-" Tim cut himself off as he took in a few sharp sniffs. His blue eyes flicked towards the glowing candles. "Oh great . . . let me open a window. . . ."

Stephen finished off the medicine with an unsteady sip of water and shook his head. "I don't really have much of a choice at the moment. We're barely keeping up with Dr. Stiles overseas."

"That's no reason to work yourself sick." Leslie said. "We'll leave you alone so you can rest, but before we do is there anything else we can get you?"

Stephen thought for a moment as a swimming feeling trickled through his brain. "Actually, yes. Could you get me a sandwich from the cafeteria? It's been a while since I've eaten."

"Sure thing!" Turning to leave, Leslie only managed two steps before Tim's rigid cringe caught her eye. "Oh, please Tim! They don't smell that . . ." She trailed off as he slowly turned, a ghastly white coating his face. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. It's just . . ." his pale eyes lingered to the surgeon. "Hey, Dr. Clarks? When exactly was it that you ate last?"

"Ah . . . it had to have been at least twelve hours ago . . . why?"

"Not again!" Tim stammered as his eyes grew large.

"Huh?" Stephen's response poured out as a heavy slur, the edges of his churning world caving down upon him at once.

"Not again?" Leslie questioned.

Tim grimaced as he glanced at her and back at the surgeon. "The pills I gave you . . . were also a sleep aide."

With that last statement rippling through his fading mind, the rest the surgeon had been seeking pounced at once and bathed him in darkness.

--

"I see . . ."

Sidney sighed, his fingers lightly pressed against the rim of his glasses while his other arm was crossed over his chest.

No response came from the nurses at first, both of them choosing to stretch out the silence as much as they could. Though the professional and composed nature of the chief director, combined with his stubbornness to not lose that composure, filtered most of his frustration, it was not enough to hide the irate twitch of his brow. The slight motion startled the two he faced, earning a nervous grin from one of them as he combed the back of his blond hair.

"Well, at least he got that much needed sleep." He said. His chuckles subsided under Sidney's sharp eyes, but his glare was quick to part.

"Though I'd prefer our resident surgeon was still conscious, with the strain on our staff at the moment, there's nothing that can be done about it now. But, given the sleep that you say he's received, I'm sure Dr. Chase won't mind picking up the work load for a few hours."

Leslie gave an uneasy grin as she rubbed her arm.

"The two of you may return to your duties, but Tim, try to be more careful when administering medicine. We don't need anymore of our staff passing out."

"Yes, sir. I apologize."

With that, the chief director departed to rouse a soon to be unhappy surgeon from his sleep. Tim pressed a hand to his forehead, giving a short and agitated breath as Leslie crossed her arms. "You are so taking the blame for this when he wakes up."

--

"Heh . . . poor Tyler." Stephen chuckled lightly.

"Yeah, he wasn't too thrilled at all . . . but everything's taken care of." Tim quipped. "So, how are you feeling?"

"Best I've felt in days."

"Great! We were just about to go for breakfast. You feel well enough to join us?"

"Absolutely. I'm famished."

"We figured you would be." Leslie smiled. "Do you need help?"

"No . . ." Stephen gingerly swung his feet and slowly lowered a foot to the ground. There was a slight tremor in his body as he shifted his weight, but he waved back the nurses that stood ready to pounce. Carefully, he placed his second foot to the floor, swaying slightly before finding his balance. "There, I'm good."

"Let's go then." Leslie announced. "Tim's buying and we're going to Waffle House."

There was not a moment of hesitation in the nurse's steps as she turned, leaving a gaping Tim and still waking Stephen to catch up. "What? No way! We are not going to Waffle House!"

"What's wrong with Waffle House?"

"Everything." Tim growled. "It smells worse than your incense."

She tossed a glance over her shoulder. "Oh, and what would you suggest?"

"IHOP."

"IHOP?" Leslie snorted. "That place is overrated. Let's go to Waffle House."

"Tch, you said I was buying, right?"

"Sure are."

"Well, that means I decide where we go and we're going to IHOP."

Leslie stopped, crossing her arms as she gave a subtle glare to her fellow nurse. "All right then. I'm buying." she smirked, leaving Tim to gape once again as she walked onward.

"No, I'm buying." he retorted. "You said so . . ."

"Well, I changed my mind."

"You can't just switch it around like that! I'm buying!"

"I'm buying!"

"_I'm _buying."

The nurses fell silent, taking a moment to glance at the surgeon walking idly behind them, who met their stares unflinching. "And if you two don't stop bickering, I'm going to take you to McDonald's." That stopped them both in their tracks. Stephen smirked inwardly and shook his head slowly as they both gave a cringe at the thought. "I swear, you two are as bad as my kids."

An uneasy chuckle bubbled from the nurses once again as they grinned. "Okay, Dr. Clarks, where are we going?" Tim asked.

The doctor pursed his lips for a brief moment. "How about Village Inn?"

"Village Inn?" Leslie cocked a brow to Tim. "I haven't been there in a while."

"Me neither. Sounds good."

"Good. It's settled then." Stephen smiled, placing his hands in his coat pockets as the three of them proceeded to the main entrance. The rest of the walk was spent in relative quiet, save for the facility's backdrop of sound, leaving the now clear headed surgeon to appreciate what it was like to feel well again. Though as the front doors parted, the brisk updraft of morning air stirred up a rather potent aroma. He took a moment to ponder whether or not to voice what had been plaguing him since waking, but another breath of the scent was all the persuasion he needed. "Nurse Sears?"

Leslie stopped and turned. "Yes Doctor?"

"I appreciate the effort, but I have to ask. Exactly how long is my coat going to smell like rosemary?"

--

A/N: A request for Tristan the Dreamer. It's about time we got some more Clarks-centric fics around here, ne?

And the return of my OC Tim! Yay! He's not very good at administering medicine is he? Everyone he gives medication to passes out from it! And if you're reading this on , I'm assuming you know why Leslie called him "Yoshi" – thanks to the site's chaptering system. If not, or you're reading this on deviant art, check out the _Hay Fever_ chapter for an explanation.

Discla . . . no! I'm not going to write a disclaimer this time! It's too much work and pointless. In fact, ya know what, I claim everything! _Everything!_ Trauma Center, IHOP, Waffle House . . . it's mine! All mine! Mwahahaha!

(is sued)

Awwww . . . .


End file.
